o 

z 


HISTORICAL 


The  Romance  of  Reality 


BY 

CHARLES  MORRIS 

AUTHOR  OF  "  HALF-HOURS  WITH  THE  BEST  AMERICAN 
AUTHORS,"  u  TALES  FROM  THE  DRAMATISTS,"  u  KING 
ARTHUR  AND  THE  KNIGHTS  OF  THE  ROUND-TABLE,"  ETC. 


FRENCH 


DENVER: 

TANDY,  WHEELER   &   COMPANY. 
1902. 


COPYRIGHT,  1893, 

BY 
J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY 


PRINTED  BY  J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY,  PHILADELPHIA* 


DCs? 

M47 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

THE  HUNS  AT  ORLEANS c   ,    .   .  7 

THE  WOOING  OF  CLOTILDE „  17 

THE  KIVAL  QUEENS 28 

KOLAND   AT   KONCESVALLES 39 

CHARLEMAGNE  AND  THE  AVARS 46 

THE  CROWNING  OP  CHARLEMAGNE 57 

PETER  THE  HERMIT 68 

THE  COMMUNE  OF  LAON 79 

How  BIG  FERRE  FOUGHT  FOR  FRANCE 92 

BERTRAND  DU  GUESCLIN 101 

JOAN  OF  ARC,  THE  MAID  OF  ORLEANS 114 

THE  CAREER  OF  A  KNIGHT-ERRANT     130 

Louis  THE  POLITIC  AND  CHARLES  THE  BOLD   ....  143 

CHARLES  THE  BOLD  AND  THE  Swiss 164 

BAYARD,  THE  GOOD  KNIGHT 162 

EPISODES  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  A  TRAITOR 171 

ST.  BARTHOLOMEW'S  DAY 182 

KING  HENRY  OF  NAVARRE 191 

THE  MURDER  OF  A  KING 203 

KlCHELIEU  AND  THE  CONSPIRATORS 210 

THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  PARIS 224 

A  MARTYR  TO  HIS  PROFESSION 241 

THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON  MASK 247 

VOLTAIRE'S  LAST  VISIT  TO  PARIS 263 

THE  DIAMOND  NECKLACE 260 

THE  FALL  OF  THE  BASTILLE 269 

THE  STORY  OF  THE  SAINTE  AMPOULE 276 

THE  FLIGHT  OF  THE  KING 286 

THE  END  OF  THE  TERROR 293 

THE  BURNING  OF  Moscow 303 

NAPOLEON'S  KETURN  FROM  ELBA 314 

8 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


FRENCH. 

PAGE 

COLUMN  OF  JULY,  PLACE  DE  LA  BASTILLE  (Frontispiece). 

THE  Vow  OF  CLOVIS 25 

THE  CORONATION  OF  CHARLEMAGNE 62 

JOAN  OF  ARC  AT  ORLEANS 123 

Louis  XI 143 

EQUESTRIAN  STATUE  OF  HENRY  IY 191 

CHAMBER  OF  MARY  DE'  MEDICI 205 

FRANCOIS  MARIE  AROUET  DE  VOLTAIRE 253 

MARIE  ANTOINETTE  AND  HER  CHILDREN 266 

THE  LAST  VICTIMS  OF  THE  KEIGN  OF  TERROR     .    .    .  293 

THE  CITY  OF  Moscow 308 

NAPOLEON'S  KETURN  FROM  ELBA  .                         .  .    •  319 


THE  HUNS  AT  ORLEANS. 

ON  the  edge  of  a  grand  plain,  almost  in  the  centre 
of  France,  rises  a  rich  and  beautiful  city,  time- 
honored  and  famous,  for  it  stood  there  before  France 
had  begun  and  while  Eome  still  spread  its  wide 
wings  over  this  whole  region,  and  it  has  been  the 
scene  of  some  of  the  most  notable  events  in  French 
history.  The  Gauls,  one  of  whose  cities  it  was, 
named  it  Genabum.  The  Eomans  renamed  it  Aure- 
liani,  probably  from  their  Emperor  Aurelian.  Time 
and  the  evolution  of  the  French  language  wore  this 
name  down  to  Orleans,  by  which  the  city  has  for 
many  centuries  been  known. 

The  broad  Loire,  the  longest  river  of  France, 
sweeps  the  foot  of  the  sloping  plain  on  which  the 
city  stands,  and  bears  its  commerce  to  the  sea.  Near 
by  grows  a  magnificent  forest,  one  of  the  largest  in 
France,  covering  no  less  than  ninety-four  thousand 
acres.  Within  the  city  appear  the  lofty  spires  of  a 
magnificent  cathedral,  while  numerous  towers  rise 
from  a  maze  of  buildings,  giving  the  place,  from  a 
distance,  a  highly  attractive  aspect.  It  is  still  sur 
rounded  by  its  mediaeval  walls,  outside  of  which 
extend  prosperous  suburbs,  while  far  and  wide  be 
yond  stretches  the  fertile  plain. 

7 


8  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

Such  is  the  Oi  leans  of  to-day.  In  the  past  it  was 
the  scene  of  two  striking  and  romantic  events,  one 
of  them  associated  with  the  name  of  Joan  of  Arc, 
the  most  interesting  figure  in  French  history;  the 
other,  which  we  have  now  to  tell,  concerned  with 
the  terrible  Attila  and  his  horde  of  devastating  Huns, 
who  had  swept  over  Europe  and  threatened  to  anni 
hilate  civilization.  Orleans  was  the  turning-point  in 
the  career  of  victory  of  this  all-conquering  barbarian. 
From  its  walls  he  was  driven  backward  to  defeat. 

Out  from  the  endless  wilds  of  Scythia  had  poured 
a  vast  swarm  of  nomad  horsemen,  ill-favored,  fierce, 
ruthless,  the  scions  of  the  desert  and  seemingly  sworn 
to  make  a  desert  of  Europe.  They  were  led  by 
Attila,  the  "  Scourge  of  God,"  as  he  called  himself, 
in  the  tracks  of  whose  horse's  hoofs  the  grass  could 
never  grow  again,  as  he  proudly  boasted. 

Writers  of  the  time  picture  to  us  this  savage  chief 
tain  as  a  deformed  monster,  short,  ill-formed,  with 
a  large  head,  swarthy  complexion,  small,  deep-seated 
eyes,  fiat  nose,  a  few  hairs  in  place  of  a  beard,  and 
with  a  habit  of  fiercely  rolling  his  eyes,  as  if  to  in 
spire  terror.  He  had  broad  shoulders,  a  square, 
strong  form,  and  was  as  powerful  in  body  as  he  was 
ready  and  alert  in  mind.  The  man  had  been  born  for 
a  conqueror,  and  Europe  was  his  prey. 

The  Scythians  adored  the  god  of  war,  whom  they 
worshipped  under  the  shape  of  an  iron  cimeter.  It 
was  through  the  aid  of  this  superstition  that  Attila 
raised  himself  to  dominion  over  their  savage  and 
tameless  hordes.  One  of  their  shepherds,  finding 
that  a  heifer  was  wounded  ir  the  foot,  followed  the 


THE   HUNS   AT   ORLEANS.  9 

track  of  blood  which  the  animal  had  made,  and  dis 
covered  amid  the  long  grass  the  point  of  an  ancient 
sword.  This  he  dug  from  the  earth  in  which  it  was 
buried  and  presented  to  Attila.  The  artful  chief 
claimed  that  it  was  a  celestial  gift,  sent  to  him  by 
the  god  of  war,  and  giving  him  a  divine  claim  to  the 
dominion  of  the  earth.  Doubtless  his  sacred  gift 
was  consecrated  with  the  Scythian  rites, — a  lofty 
heap  of  fagots,  three  hundred  yards  in  length  and 
breadth,  being  raised  on  a  spacious  plain,  the  sword 
of  Mars  placed  erect  on  its  summit,  and  the  rude 
altar  consecrated  by  the  blood  of  sheep,  horses,  and 
probably  of  human  captives.  But  Attila  soon  proved 
a  better  claim  to  a  divine  commission  by  leading  the 
hordes  of  the  Huns  to  victory  after  victory,  until  he 
threatened  to  subjugate,  if  not  to  depopulate,  all  Eu 
rope.  It  was  in  pursuance  of  this  conquering  career 
that  he  was  brought,  in  the  year  451,  to  the  banks 
of  the  Ehine  and  the  borders  of  the  future  realm  of 
France,  then  still  known  as  Gaul,  and  held  by  the 
feeble  hand  of  the  expiring  empire  of  Rome. 

The  broad  Ehine  proved  but  a  feeble  obstacle  to 
the  innumerable  cavalry  of  the  Huns.  A  bridge  of 
boats  was  quickly  built,  and  across  the  stream  they 
poured  into  the  fair  provinces  of  Gaul.  Universal 
consternation  prevailed.  Long  peace  had  made  the 
country  rich,  and  had  robbed  its  people  of  their  an 
cient  valor.  As  the  story  goes,  the  degenerate  Gauls 
trusted  for  their  defence  to  the  prayers  of  the  saints. 
St.  Lupus  saved  Troyes.  The  prayers  of  St.  Gene- 
vieve  turned  the  march  of  Attila  aside  from  Paris. 
Unluckily,  most  of  the  cities  of  the  land  held  neither 


10  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

saints  nor  soldiers,  and  the  Huns  made  these  theii 
helpless  prey.  City  after  city  was  taken  and  ruined. 
The  fate  of  Metz  will  serve  as  an  example  of  the 
policy  of  the  Huns.  In  this  city,  as  we  are  told, 
priests  and  infants  alike  were  slain,  and  the  flourish 
ing  city  was  so  utterly  destroyed  that  only  a  chapel 
of  St.  Stephen  was  left  to  mark  its  site.  Its  able- 
bodied  inhabitants  were  probably  reserved  to  be  sold 
as  slaves. 

And  now,  in  the  prosecution  of  his  ruinous  march, 
Attila  fixed  his  camp  before  the  walls  of  Orleans,  a 
city  which  he  designed  to  make  the  central  post  of 
the  dominion  which  he  hoped  to  establish  in  Gaul. 
It  was  to  be  his  fortified  centre  of  conquest.  Upon 
it  rested  the  fate  of  the  whole  great  province. 

Orleans  lay  behind  its  walls  trembling  with  dread, 
as  the  neigh  of  the  Ilunnish  horses  sounded  in  its 
ears,  as  the  standards  of  the  Hunnish  host  floated  in 
the  air.  Yet  it  was  not  quite  defenceless.  Its  walls 
had  been  recently  strengthened.  Behind  them  lay  a 
force  of  soldiers,  or  of  armed  citizens,  who  repelled 
the  first  assaults  of  the  foe.  An  army  was  known 
to  be  marching  to  its  relief.  All  was  not  lost. 

Forty  years  earlier  Eome  had  fallen  before  Alaric, 
the  Goth.  The  empire  was  now  in  the  last  stages  of 
decrepitude.  Yet  by  fortunate  chance  it  had  an  able 
soldier  at  the  head  of  its  armies,  ^Etius,  the  noblest 
eon  of  declining  Eome.  "The  graceful  figure  of 
^Etius,"  says  a  contemporary  historian,  "was  not 
above  the  middle  stature ;  but  his  manly  limbs  were 
admirably  formed  for  strength,  beauty,  and  agility  ; 
and  he  excelled  in  the  martial  exercises  of  managing 


THE   HUNS   AT   ORLEANS.  11 

a  horse,  drawing  the  bow,  and  darting  the  javelin. 
He  could  patiently  endure  the  want  of  food  or  of 
sleep ;  and  his  mind  and  body  were  alike  capable  of 
the  most  laborious  efforts.  He  possessed  the  genuine 
courage  that  can  despise  not  only  dangers  but  in 
juries;  and  it  was  impossible  either  to  corrupt,  or 
deceive,  or  intimidate  the  firm  integrity  of  his  soul." 

When  the  Huns  invaded  Gaul,  this  skilled  and 
valiant  commander  flew  to  its  relief.  To  his  Eoman 
army  he  added  an  army  of  the  Yisigoths  of  Southern 
Gaul,  under  their  King  Theoderic,  and  marched  to 
the  rescue  of  the  land.  But  the  gathering  of  this 
army  took  precious  time,  during  which  the  foe 
wrought  ruin  upon  the  land.  The  siege  of  Orleans 
had  begun  by  the  time  J&tiua  was  fairly  ready  to 
begin  his  march. 

In  that  seemingly  doomed  city  all  was  terror  and 
dismay.  A  speedy  capture,  a  frightful  massacre,  or 
a  no  less  frightful  enslavement  to  the  savage  Huns, 
was  the  dread  of  the  trembling  inhabitants.  They 
had  no  saint  to  rescue  them  by  his  prayers.  All 
their  hope  lay  in  the  arms  01  their  feeble  garrison 
and  the  encouraging  words  of  their  bishop,  in  whose 
heart  alone  courage  seemed  to  keep  alive. 

Anianus  was  the  name  of  this  valiant  and  wise 
churchman,  whose  counsels  of  hope  alone  sustained 
the  despairing  citizens,  whose  diligence  and  earnest 
ness  animated  the  garrison  in  its  defence.  The  siege 
was  fierce,  the  defence  obstinate,  the  army  of  relief 
was  known  to  be  on  its  way,  if  they  could  but  hold 
out  till  it  came.  Anianus,  counting  the  days  and 
hours  with  intense  anxiety,  kept  a  sentinel  on  the 


12  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

lookout  for  the  first  signs  of  the  advancing  host  of 
Romans  and  Goths.  Yet  hours  and  days  went  by, 
and  no  sign  of  flashing  steel  or  floating  banner  could 
be  seen,  until  the  stout  heart  of  the  bishop  himself 
was  almost  ready  to  give  way  to  the  despair  which 
possessed  so  many  of  the  citizens. 

The  Huns  advanced  point  by  point.  They  were 
already  in  the  suburbs.  The  walls  were  shaking 
beneath  the  blows  of  their  battering-rams.  The  city 
could  not  much  longer  be  held.  At  length  came  a 
day  which  threatened  to  end  with  Orleans  in  the 
hands  of  the  ruthless  foe.  And  still  the  prayed-for 
relief  came  not.  Hope  seemed  at  an  end. 

While  such  of  the  people  as  could  not  bear  arms 
lay  prostrate  in  prayer,  Anianus,  hopeful  to  the  last, 
sent  his  messenger  to  the  ramparts  to  look  for  the 
banners  of  the  Roman  army.  Far  and  wide,  from 
his  lofty  outlook,  the  keen-eyed  sentinel  surveyed  the 
surrounding  country.  In  vain  he  looked.  No  moving 
object  was  visible,  only  the  line  of  the  forest  and  the 
far-off  bordering  horizon.  He  returned  with  this 
discouraging  tidings. 

"  Go  again,"  said  the  bishop.  "  They  should  have 
been  here  before  now.  Any  minute  may  bring  them. 
Go  again." 

The  sentinel  returned,  and  again  swept  the  horizon 
with  his  eyes,  noting  every  visible  object,  seeing  noth 
ing  to  give  him  hope.  With  heavy  tread  he  returned 
to  the  bishop,  and  reported  his  failure. 

"  They  must  be  near !"  cried  Anianus,  with  nervous 
impatience.  "Go;  look  once  more.  Let  nothing 
escape  your  eyes." 


THE    HUNS   AT   ORLEANS.  13 

Back  went  the  messenger,  again  mounted  the  ram 
part,  again  swept  the  plain  with  his  eyes.  Nothing^ 
— ah!  what  was  that,  on  the  horizon,  at  the  very 
extremity  of  the  landscape,  that  small,  faint  cloud, 
which  he  had  not  seen  before  ?  He  watched  it ;  it 
seemed  to  grow  larger  and  nearer.  In  haste  he  re 
turned  to  the  bishop  with  the  hopeful  news. 

"  I  have  seen  a  distant  mist,  like  a  far-off  cloud  of 
dust,"  he  said.  "  It  is  moving.  It  comes  nearer." 

"  It  is  the  aid  of  God !"  burst  from  the  lips  of  the 
bishop,  his  heart  suddenly  elate  with  joy.  And  from 
the  expectant  multitude,  through  whose  ranks  ran 
like  wildfire  the  inspiring  tidings,  burst  the  ^amo 
glad  cry,  "  It  is  the  aid  of  God !" 

Crowds  ran  in  all  haste  to  the  ramparts  ;  hundreds 
of  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  far-off,  mist-like  object ; 
every  moment  it  grew  larger  and  more  distinct; 
flashes,  as  of  steel,  color,  as  of  standards,  were  gradu 
ally  perceived ;  at  last  a  favorable  wind  blew  aside 
the  dust,  and  to  their  joyful  eyes,  under  this  gray 
canopy,  appeared  the  waving  folds  of  banners,  and 
under  them,  in  serried  array,  the  squadrons  of  the 
Eoman  and  Gothic  troops,  pressing  forward  ii>  all 
haste  to  the  relief  of  the  beleaguered  city. 

Well  might  the  citizens  cry,  "  It  is  the  aid  of  God !" 
The  army  of  ^Etius  had  come  not  a  day,  not  an  hour, 
too  soon.  The  walls  had  given  way  before  the  thun- 
doring  blows  of  the  battering-rams.  A  breach  had 
been  made  through  which  the  Huns  were  swarming. 
Only  for  the  desire  of  Attila  to  save  the  city,  it  might 
have  been  already  in  flames.  As  it  was,  the  savage 
foes  were  breaking  into  the  houses  in  search  of 

2 


14  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

plunder,  and  dividing  such  citizens  as  they  had 
seized  into  groups  to  be  led  into  captivity,  when  this 
cry  of  glad  relief  broke  loudly  upon  the  air. 

The  news  that  had  aroused  the  citizens  quickly 
reached  the  ears  of  Attila.  A  strong  army  of  enemies 
was  at  hand.  There  was  no  time  to  occupy  and 
attempt  to  defend  the  city.  If  his  men  were  assailed 
by  citizens  and  soldiers  in  those  narrow  streets  they 
might  be  slaughtered  without  mercy.  Prudence  dic 
tated  a  retreat. 

Attila  was  as  prudent  as  he  was  daring.  The 
sound  of  trumpets  recalled  his  obedient  hordes.  Out 
they  swarmed  through  the  openings  which  had  per 
mitted  their  entrance.  Soon  the  army  of  the  Huns 
was  in  full  retreat,  while  the  advancing  host  of 
Eomans  and  Goths  marched  proudly  into  the  open 
gates  of  the  delivered  city,  with  banners  proudly 
floating  and  trumpets  loudly  blaring,  while  every 
heart  within  those  walls  was  in  a  thrill  of  joy.  Or 
leans  had  been  saved,  almost  by  magic  as  it  seemed, 
for  never  had  been  peril  more  extreme,  need  more 
pressing.  An  hour  more  of  delay,  and  Orleans, 
perhaps  the  whole  province  of  Gaul,  had  been  lost. 

We  may  briefly  conclude  the  story  of  this  inva 
sion  of  the  Huns.  Attila,  convinced  of  the  strength 
and  spirit  of  his  enemy,  retreated  in  haste,  foreseeing 
ruin  if  he  should  be  defeated  in  the  heart  of  Gaul. 
He  crossed  the  Seine,  and  halted  not  until  he  had 
reached  the  plains  of  Chalons,  whose  level  surface 
was  well  adapted  to  the  evolutions  of  the  skilled 
horsemen  who  formed  the  strength  of  his  hordes. 

As  he  retreated,  the  Eomans  and  Goths  followed, 


THE   HUNS   AT   ORLEANS.  15 

pressing  him  sharply,  making  havoc  in  his  rear-guard, 
reaching  Chalons  so  closely  upon  his  march  that  the 
Goths,  under  Torismond,  the  young  and  valiant  son 
of  their  king,  were  able  to  seize  a  commanding  height 
in  the  midst  of  the  field,  driving  back  the  Huns  who 
were  ascending  from  the  opposite  side. 

The  battle  that  followed  was  one  of  the  decisive 
battles  of  history.  Had  the  Huns  won  the  victory, 
all  western  Europe  might  have  become  their  prey. 
The  victory  of  .ZEtius  was  the  first  check  received  by 
this  mighty  horde  in  their  career  of  ruin  and  devasta 
tion.  The  conflict,  as  described  by  the  historians  of 
the  time,  was  "  fierce,  various,  obstinate,  and  bloody ; 
such  as  could  not  be  paralleled,  either  in  the  present 
or  in  past  ages."  The  number  of  the  slain  is  variously 
estimated  at  from  three  hundred  thousand  to  about 
half  that  number.  Exaggerated  as  these  estimates 
undoubtedly  are,  they  will  serve  to  indicate  the 
ferocity  and  bloody  nature  of  the  struggle.  For 
a  time  it  seemed  as  if  the  Huns  would  win.  Led  by 
their  king,  they  broke  through  the  centre  of  the 
allies,  separated  their  wings,  turned  their  whole 
strength  against  the  Goths,  and  slew  Theodoric, 
their  king,  at  the  head  of  his  men. 

But  the  victory  which  seemed  theirs  was  snatched 
from  them  by  the  valiant  Torismond,  who  descended 
from  the  height  he  had  seized,  assailed  the  Huns 
with  intrepid  courage,  and  so  changed  the  fortune 
of  the  field  that  Attila  was  obliged  to  retreat, — van 
quished  for  the  first  time  in  his  long  career.  The 
approach  of  night  alone  saved  the  Huns  from  a 
total  defeat.  They  retired  within  the  circle  of  their 


16  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

wagons,  and  remained  there  as  in  a  fort,  while  th« 
triumphant  allies  encamped  upon  the  field. 

That  night  was  one  of  anxiety  for  Attila.  He 
feared  an  attack,  and  knew  that  the  Huns,  dis 
mounted  and  fighting  behind  a  barricade,  were  in 
imminent  danger  of  defeat.  Their  strength  lay  in 
their  horses.  On  foot  they  were  but  feeble  warriors. 
Dreading  utter  ruin,  Attila  prepared  a  funeral  pile 
of  the  saddles  and  rich  equipments  of  the  cavalry, 
resolved,  if  his  camp  should  be  forced,  to  rush  into 
the  flames,  and  deprive  his  enemies  of  the  glory  of 
slaying  or  capturing  the  great  barbarian  king. 

The  attack  did  not  come.  The  army  of  jEtius 
was  in  no  condition  for  an  assault.  ISTor  did  it  seem 
safe  to  them  to  attempt  to  storm  the  camp  of  their 
formidable  antagonist,  who  lay  behind  his  wagons, 
as  the  historians  of  the  time  say,  like  a  lion  in  his 
den,  encompassed  by  the  hunters,  and  daring  them 
to  the  attack.  His  trumpets  sounded  defiance. 
Such  troops  as  advanced  to  the  assault  were  checked 
or  destroyed  by  showers  of  arrows.  It  was  at  length 
determined,  in  a  council  of  war,  to  besiege  the  Huns 
in  their  camp,  and  by  dread  of  starvation  to  force 
them  into  battle  on  unequal  terms,  or  to  a  treaty  dis 
graceful  to  their  king. 

For  this  Attila  did  not  wait.  Breaking  camp  he 
retreated,  and  by  crossing  the  Ehine  acknowledged 
his  defeat.  The  Koman  empire  had  won  its  last 
victory  in  the  west,  and  saved  Gaul  for  the  Franks, 
whose  day  of  conquest  was  soon  to  come. 


THE   WOOING  OF  CLOTILDE. 

A  BEAUTIFUL,  wise,  and  well-learned  maiden  was 
Clotilde,  princess  of  Burgundy,  the  noblest  and  most 
charming  of  the  daughters  of  the  Franks.  Such  was 
the  story  that  the  voice  of  fame  whispered  into  the 
ear  of  Clovis,  the  first  of  the  long  line  of  French 
kings.  Beautiful  she  was,  but  unfortunate.  Grief 
had  marked  her  for  its  own.  Grief  and  revenge,  for 
the  two  feelings  burned  in  her  heart.  Her  father 
had  been  murdered.  Her  two  brothers  had  shared 
his  fate.  Her  mother  had  been  thrown  into  the 
Ehine,  with  a  stone  around  her  neck,  and  drowned. 
Her  sister  Chrona  had  taken  religious  vows.  She 
remained  alone,  the  last  of  her  family,  not  knowing 
at  what  moment  she  might  share  their  fate,  dwelling 
almost  in  exile  at  Geneva,  where  her  days  were  spent 
in  works  of  charity  and  piety,  though  secretly  her 
heart  burned  with  remembrance  of  her  wrongs. 

It  was  to  her  uncle,  Gondebaud,  king  of  the  Bur- 
gundians,  that  she  owed  these  misfortunes.  Ambi 
tion  was  their  cause.  The  fierce  barbarian,  in  whom 
desire  for  a  throne  outweighed  all  brotherly  feeling, 
had  murdered  his  brother  and  seized  the  throne, 
leaving  of  the  line  of  Chilperie  only  these  two  help 
less  girls,  one  a  nun,  the  other  seemingly  a  devotee. 

To  the  ears  of  Clovis,  the  king  of  the  Franks, 
III.— b  2*  17 


18  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

came,  as  we  have  said,  the  story  of  the  beauty  and 
misfortunes  of  this  Burgundian  maiden,  a  scion  like 
himself  of  the  royal  line  of  Germany,  but  an  heir  to 
sorrow  and  exposed  to  peril.  Clovis  was  young,  un 
married,  and  ardent  of  heart.  He  craved  the  love 
of  this  famed  maiden,  if  she  should  be  as  beautiful 
as  report  said,  but  wisely  wished  to  satisfy  himself 
in  this  regard  before  making  a  formal  demand  for 
her  hand.  He  could  not  himself  see  her.  Eoyal 
etiquette  forbade  that.  Nor  did  he  care  to  rouse 
Gondebaud's  suspicions  by  sending  an  envoy.  He 
therefore  adopted  more  secret  measures,  and  sent  a 
Eoman,  named  Aurelian,  bidding  him  to  seek  Geneva 
in  the  guise  of  a  beggar,  and  to  use  all  his  wit  to 
gain  sight  of  and  speech  with  the  fair  Clotilde. 

Clothed  in  rags,  and  bearing  his  wallet  on  his  back, 
like  a  wandering  mendicant,  Aurelian  set  out  on  his 
mission,  travelling  on  foot  to  Geneva.  Clovis  had 
entrusted  him  with  his  ring,  as  proof  of  his  mission, 
m  case  he  should  deem  the  maiden  worthy  to  be  the 
bride  of  his  king.  Geneva  was  duly  reached,  and 
the  seeming  pilgrim,  learning  where  the  princess 
dwelt,  and  her  habits  of  Christian  charity  towards 
strangers,  sought  her  dwelling  and  begged  for  alms 
and  shelter.  Clotilde  received  him  with  all  kindness, 
bade  him  welcome,  and,  in  pursuance  of  the  custom 
of  the  times,  washed  his  feet. 

Aurelian,  who  had  quickly  made  up  his  mind  as  to 
the  beauty,  grace,  and  wit  of  the  royal  maiden,  and 
her  fitness  to  become  a  king's  bride,  bent  towards 
her  as  she  was  thus  humbly  employed,  and  in  a  low 
voice  said, — 


THE  WOOING  OF   CLOTILDE.  19 

"  Lady,  I  have  great  matters  to  announce  to  thee, 
if  thou  wilt  deign  to  grant  me  secret  speech." 

Clotilde  looked  up  quickly,  and  saw  deep  mean 
ing  in  his  face.  "  Surely,"  she  thought,  "  this  is  no 
common  beggar.' 

"  Say  on,"  she  remarked,  in  the  same  cautious  tone. 

"  Clovis,  king  of  the  Franks,  has  sent  me  to  thee," 
said  Aurelian.  "  If  it  be  the  will  of  God,  he  would 
fain  raise  thee  to  his  high  rank  by  marriage,  and  that 
thou  mayst  be  satisfied  that  I  am  a  true  messenger, 
he  sendeth  thee  this,  his  ring." 

Clotilde  joyfully  took  the  ring,  her  heart  beating 
high  with  hope  and  desire  for  revenge.  Dismissing 
her  attendants,  she  warmly  thanked  the  messenger 
for  his  caution,  and  declared  that  nothing  could  give 
her  greater  joy  than  to  be  bride  to  Clovis,  the  great 
and  valorous  king  who  was  bringing  all  the  land  of 
Gaul  under  his  rule. 

"Take  in  payment  for  thy  pains  these  hundred 
sous  in  gold  and  this  ring  of  mine,"  she  said.  "  Ee- 
turn  promptly  to  thy  lord.  If  he  would  have  my 
hand  in  marriage,  let  him  send  messengers  without 
delay  to  demand  me  of  my  uncle  Gondebaud ;  and 
bid  him  direct  his  messengers,  as  soon  as  they  obtain 
permission,  to  take  me  away  in  haste.  If  they  delay, 
I  fear  all  will  fail.  Aiidius,  my  uncle's  counsellor,  is 
on  his  way  back  from  Constantinople.  If  he  should 
arrive,  and  gain  my  uncle's  ear,  before  I  am  gone, 
all  will  come  to  naught.  Haste,  then,  and  advise 
Clovis  that  there  be  no  delay." 

Aurelian  was  willing  enough  to  comply  with  hei 
request,  but  he  met  with  obstacles  on  the  way.  Start 


20  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

ing  back  in  the  same  disguise  in  which  he  had  come,  he 
made  all  haste  towards  Orleans,  where  he  dwelt,  and 
where  he  hoped  to  learn  the  location  of  the  camp  of 
the  warlike  Clovis.  On  nearing  this  city,  he  took  for 
travelling  companion  a  poor  mendicant,  whom  for 
tune  threw  in  his  way,  and  with  whom  he  journeyed 
for  miles  in  the  intimacy  of  the  highway.  Growing 
weary  as  night  approached,  and  having  confidence  in 
his  companion,  Aurelian  fell  asleep  by  the  wayside, 
leaving  the  beggar  to  watch. 

Several  hours  passed  before  he  awoke.  "When  he 
did  so  it  was  to  find,  to  his  intense  alarm,  that  his 
companion  had  vanished  and  his  wallet  had  gone, 
and  with  it  the  gold  which  it  contained  and  Clo- 
tilde's  precious  ring.  In  dismay  Aurelian  hurried 
to  the  city,  reached  his  home,  and  sent  his  servants 
in  all  directions  in  search  of  the  thievish  mendicant, 
whom  he  felt  sure  had  sought  some  lurking-place 
within  the  city  walls. 

His  surmise  was  correct.  The  fellow  was  found 
and  brought  to  him,  the  wallet  and  its  valuable  con 
tents  being  recovered  intact.  What  was  to  be  done 
with  the  thief?  Those  were  not  days  of  courts  and 
prisons.  Men  were  apt  to  interpret  law  and  admin 
ister  punishment  for  themselves.  Culprits  were 
hung,  thrashed,  or  set  at  liberty.  Aurelian  weighed 
the  offence  and  decided  on  the  just  measure  of  retri 
bution.  The  culprit,  so  says  the  chronicle,  was 
soundly  thrashed  for  three  days,  and  then  set  free. 

Having  thus  settled  this  knotty  question  of  law, 
Aurelian  continued  his  journey  until  Clovis  waa 
reached,  told  him  what  he  had  seen  and  what  hsard, 


THE   WOOING   OF   CLOTILDE.  21 

and  gave  him  Clotilde' s  ring  and  message.  Clovis 
was  alike  pleased  with  the  favorable  report  of  his 
messenger  and  with  the  judicious  advice  of  the 
maiden.  He  sent  a  deputation  at  once  to  Gonde- 
baud,  bidding  the  envoys  to  make  no  delay  either  in 
going  or  returning,  and  to  demand  of  Gondebaud  the 
hand  of  his  niece  in  marriage. 

They  found  Gondebaud,  and  found  him  willing. 
The  request  of  the  powerful  Clovis  was  not  one  to 
be  safely  refused,  and  the  Burgundian  king  was 
pleased  with  the  idea  of  gaining  his  friendship,  by 
giving  him  his  niece  in  marriage.  He  had  no  sus 
picion  of  the  hatred  that  burned  concealed  in  the 
heart  of  the  injured  woman.  His  consent  gained,  the 
deputation  offered  him  a  denier  and  a  sou,  according 
to  the  marriage  customs  of  the  Franks,  and  espoused 
Clotilde  in  the  name  of  Clovis.  Word  was  at  once 
sent  to  Clovis  of  their  success,  and  without  delay  the 
king's  council  was  assembled  at  Chalons,  and  prepa 
rations  made  for  the  marriage. 

Meanwhile,  news  startling  to  Clotilde  had  reached 
Geneva.  Aridius  was  on  his  way  back.  He  had 
arrived  at  Marseilles,  and  was  travelling  with  all 
speed  towards  Burgundy.  The  alarmed  woman,  in 
a  fever  of  impatience,  hastened  the  departure  of  the 
Franks,  seemingly  burning  with  desire  to  reach  the 
court  of  the  king,  really  cold  with  fear  at  the  near 
approach  of  the  shrewd  Aridius,  whose  counsel  she 
greatly  dreaded.  Her  nervous  haste  expedited  mat 
ters.  Gondebaud  formally  transferred  her  to  the 
Franks,  with  valuable  gifts  which  he  sent  as  a  mar- 
riage  portion,  and  the  cortege  set  out,  Clctilde  in 


22  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

a  covered  carriage,  her  attendants  and  escort  on 
horseback.  And  thus  slowly  moved  away  this  old- 
time  marriage-train. 

But  not  far  had  they  left  the  city  behind  them 
when  Clotilde's  impatience  with  their  slow  move 
ment  displayed  itself.  She  had  kept  herself  advised. 
Aridius  was  near  at  hand.  He  might  reach  Geneva 
that  very  day.  Calling  to  her  carriage  the  leaders 
of  her  escort,  she  said, — 

"  Good  sirs,  if  you  hope  to  take  me  into  the  pres 
ence  of  your  lord,  you  must  find  me  better  means  of 
speed  than  this  slow  carriage.  Let  me  descend, 
mount  on  horseback,  and  then  away  as  fast  as  we 
may.  Much  I  fear  that,  in  this  carriage,  I  shall 
never  see  Clovis,  your  king." 

Learning  the  reason  of  her  haste,  they  did  as  re 
quested,  and,  mounted  on  one  of  their  swiftest  steeds, 
Clotilde  swept  onward  to  love  and  vengeance,  leav 
ing  the  lumbering  carriage  to  follow  with  her  female 
attendants  at  its  slow  will. 

She  was  none  too  soon.  Not  long  had  she  left 
her  uncle's  court  before  Aridius  reached  it.  Gonde- 
baud,  who  had  unbounded  respect  for  and  confidence 
in  him,  received  him  joyfully,  and  said,  after  their 
first  greetings, — 

"  I  have  just  completed  a  good  stroke  of  policy.  I 
have  made  friends  with  the  Franks,  and  given  my 
niece  Clotilde  to  Clovis  in  marriage." 

"  You  have  ?"  exclaimed  Aridius,  in  surprise  and 
alarm.  "  And  you  deem  this  a  bond  of  friendship  ? 
To  my  poor  wit,  Gondebaud,  it  is  a  pledge  of  per 
petual  strife  Have  you  forgotten,  my  lord,  that  you 


THE   WOOING   OF   CLOTILDE.  23 

killed  Clo  'tilde's  father  and  drowned  her  mother,  and 
that  you  cut  off  the  heads  of  her  brothers  and  threw 
their  bodies  into  a  well?  What  think  you  this 
woman  is  made  of?  If  she  become  powerful,  will  not 
revenge  be  her  first  and  only  thought?  She  is  not 
far  gone ;  if  you  are  wise  you  will  send  at  once  a 
troop  in  swift  pursuit,  and  bring  her  back.  She  is 
but  one,  the  Franks  are  many.  You  will  find  it 
easier  to  bear  the  wrath  of  one  person  than  for  you 
and  yours  to  be  perpetually  at  war  with  all  the 
Franks." 

Gondebaud  saw  the  wisdom  of  these  words,  and 
lost  no  time  in  taking  his  councillor's  advice.  A 
troop  was  sent,  with  orders  to  ride  at  all  speed,  and 
bring  back  Clotilde  with  the  carriage  and  the 
treasure. 

The  carriage  and  the  treasure  they  did  bring  back ; 
but  not  Clotilde.  She,  with  her  escort,  was  already 
far  away,  riding  in  haste  for  the  frontier  of  Bur 
gundy.  Clovis  had  advanced  to  meet  her,  and  was 
awaiting  at  Tillers,  in  the  territory  of  Troyes,  at  no 
great  distance  from  the  border  of  Burgundy.  But 
before  reaching  this  frontier,  Clotilde  gave  vent  to 
the  revengeful  passion  which  had  so  long  smouldered 
in  her  heart. 

"  Ride  right  and  left !"  she  said  to  her  escort ; 
"  plunder  and  burn !  Do  what  damage  you  may  to 
this  hated  country  from  which  Heaven  has  delivered 
me!" 

Then,  as  they  rode  away  on  their  mission  of  ruin, 
to  which  they  had  obtained  permission  from  Clovis, 
she  cried  aloud  in  the  fervor  of  deadly  hate, — 


24  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

<•  I  thank  thee,  God  omnipotent,  for  that  I  see  in 
this  the  beginning  of  the  vengeance  which  I  owe  to 
tuy  slaughtered  parents  and  brethren !" 

In  no  long  time  afterwards  she  joined  Clovis, 
who  received  her  with  a  lover's  joy,  and  in  due 
season  the  marriage  was  celebrated,  with  all  the 
pomp  and  ceremony  of  which  those  rude  times  were 
capable. 

Thus  ends  the  romantic  story  told  us  by  the  chroni 
cler  Fredegaire,  somewhat  too  romantic  to  be  ac 
cepted  for  veracious  history,  we  fear.  Yet  it  is 
interesting  as  a  picture  of  the  times,  and  has  doubt 
less  in  it  an  element  of  fact — though  it  may  have 
been  colored  by  imagination.  Aurelian  and  Aridius 
are  historical  personages,  and  what  we  know  of  them 
is  in  keeping  with  what  is  here  told  of  them.  So 
the  reader  may,  if  he  will,  accept  the  story  as  an 
interesting  compound  cf  reality  and  romance. 

But  there  is  more  to  tell.  Clotilde  had  an  impor 
tant  historical  part  to  play,  which  is  picturesquely 
described  by  the  chronicler,  Gregory  of  Tours.  She 
was  a  Christian,  Clovis  a  pagan ;  it  was  natural  that 
she  should  desire  to  convert  her  husband,  and  through 
him  turn  the  nation  of  the  Franks  into  worshippers 
of  Christ.  She  had  a  son,  whom  she  wished  to  have 
baptized.  She  begged  her  husband  to  yield  to  her 
wishes. 

"The  gods  you  worship,"  she  said,  "are  of  wood, 
stone,  or  metal.  They  are  nought,  and  can  do  nought 
for  you  or  themselves." 

"  It  is  by  command  of  our  gods  that  all  things  are 
created,"  answered  Clovis.  "  It  is  plain  that  youi 


THE  VOW  OF  CLOVIS, 


THE   WOOING   OF   CLOTILDE.  25 

God  has  no  power.     There  is  no  proof  that  he  is  even 
of  the  race  of  gods." 

Yet  he  yielded  to  her  wishes  and  let  the  child  be 
baptized.  Soon  afterwards  the  infant  died,  and  Clo- 
vis  reproached  her  bitterly. 

"  Had  he  been  dedicated  to  my  gods  he  would  still 
be  alive/'  he  said.  "  He  was  baptized  in  the  name 
of  your  God,  and  you  see  the  end;  he  could  not 
live." 

A  second  son  was  born,  and  was  also  baptized.  He, 
too,  fell  sick. 

"It  will  be  with  him  as  with  his  brother/'  said 
Clovis.  "  You  have  had  your  will  in  baptizing  him, 
and  he  is  going  to  die.  Is  this  the  power  of  your 
Christ  ?" 

But  the  child  lived,  and  Clovis  grew  less  incredu 
lous  of  the  God  of  his  wife.  In  the  year  496  war 
broke  out  between  him  and  a  German  tribe.  The 
Germans  were  successful,  the  Franks  wavering. 
Clovis  was  anxious.  Before  hurrying  to  the  front 
he  had  promised  his  wife — so  says  Fredegaire — to 
become  a  Christian  if  the  victory  were  his.  Others 
say  that  he  made  this  promise  at  the  suggestion  of 
Aurelian,  at  a  moment  when  the  battle  seemed  lost. 
However  that  be,  the  tide  of  battle  turned,  the  vic 
tory  remained  with  the  Franks,  the  Germans  were 
defeated  and  their  king  slain. 

Clotilde,  fearing  that  he  would  forget  his  promise, 
sent  secretly  to  St.  Eemy,  bishop  of  Eheims,  to  come 
and  use  his  influence  with  the  king.  He  did  so,  and 
fervently  besought  Clovis  to  accept  the  Christian 
faith. 

B  3 


2b  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

"  I  would  willingly  listen  to  you,  hcly  father,"  said 
Clovis,  "  but  I  fear  that  the  people  who  follow  me 
will  not  give  up  their  gods.  I  am  about  to  assemble 
them,  and  will  repeat  to  them  your  words." 

He  found  them  more  ready  than  he  deemed.  The 
story  of  his  promise  and  the  victory  that  followed 
it  had,  doubtless,  strongly  influenced  them.  Before 
he  could  speak,  most  of  those  present  cried  out, — 

"  We  abjure  the  mortal  gods ;  we  are  ready  to 
follow  the  immortal  God  whom  Eemy  preaches." 

About  three  thousand  of  the  Franks,  however, 
refused  to  give  up  their  old  faith,  and  deserted  Clovis, 
joining  the  Frankish  King  of  Cambrai — who  was 
before  long  to  pay  dearly  for  this  addition  to  his 
ranks. 

Christmas-day,  496,  was  fixed  by  Eemy  for  the 
ceremony  of  baptism  of  the  king  and  his  followers, 
and  on  that  day,  with  impressive  ceremonies,  Clovis 
the  king  and  about  three  thousand  of  his  warriors 
were  made  Christians,  and  the  maker  of  the  French 
nation  was  received  into  the  fold  of  the  Church. 
With  this  ceremony  the  kingdom  of  France  may  be 
said  to  have  been  born.  From  that  time  forward 
Clovis  won  victory  after  victory  over  his  surrounding 
enemies.  He  had  been  born  leader  of  a  tribe.  He 
died  king  of  a  nation,  to  be  thereafter  known  as 
France. 

But  the  story  of  Clotilde  and  her  work  of  ven 
geance  needs  to  be  finished.  It  proved  as  Aridius 
had  predicted.  Clovis,  probably  stirred  thereto  by 
the  influence  of  his  wife,  broke  his  truce  with  Gon- 
debaud,  and  entered  Burgundy  with  an  army.  GOD- 


THE   WOOING   OP   CLOTILDE.  27 

debaud  was  met  and  defeated  at  Dijon,  partly  through 
the  treachery  of  his  brother,  whom  Clovis  had  won 
over.  He  fled  to  Avignon  and  shut  himself  up  in 
that  stronghold.  Clovis  pursued  and  besieged  him. 
Gondebaud,  filled  with  alarm,  asked  counsel  of 
Aridius,  who  told  him  that  he  had  brought  this  upon 
himself. 

"  I  will  save  you,  though,"  he  said.  "  I  will  feign 
to  fly  and  go  over  to  Clovis.  Trust  me  to  act  so  that 
he  shall  ruin  neither  you  nor  your  land.  But  you 
must  do  what  I  ask." 

"  I  will  do  whatever  you  bid,"  said  Gondebaud. 

Aridius  thereupon  sought  Clovis,  in  the  guise  of  a 
deserter  from  Gondebaud.  But  such  was  his  intel 
ligence,  the  charm  of  his  conversation,  the  wisdom 
and  good  judgment  of  his  counsel,  that  Clovis  was 
greatly  taken  with  him,  and  yielded  to  his  advice. 

"  You  gain  nothing  by  ravaging  the  fields,  cutting 
down  the  vines,  and  destroying  the  harvests  of  your 
adversary,"  he  said,  "  while  he  defies  you  in  his 
stronghold.  Eather  send  him  deputies,  and  lay  on 
him  a  tribute  to  be  paid  you  every  year.  Thus  the 
land  will  be  preserved,  and  you  be  lord  forever  over 
him  who  owes  you  tribute.  If  he  refuse,  then  do 
what  pleases  you." 

Clovis  deemed  the  advice  good,  did  as  requested, 
and  found  Gondebaud  more  than  willing  to  become 
his  tributary  vassal.  And  thus  ended  the  contest 
between  them,  Burgundy  becoming  a  tributary 
province  of  France.  Clotilde  survived  her  husband, 
but  she  took  no  further  revenge  upon  the  humbled 
murderer  of  her  family. 


THE  RIVAL   QUEENS. 

FROM  the  days  of  Clovis  to  the  days  of  Charles 
Martel  and  Charlemagne  the  history  of  France,  so  far 
as  its  kingship  is  concerned,  is  almost  a  blank.  It 
was  an  era  of  several  centuries  of  incompetent  and 
sluggish  monarchs,  of  whom  we  can  say  little  more 
than  that  they  were  born  and  died  ;  they  can  scarcely 
be  said  to  have  reigned.  But  from  the  midst  of  this 
dull  interregnum  of  Merovingian  sluggards  comes  to 
us  the  story  of  two  queens,  women  of  force  and 
power,  whose  biography  is  full  of  the  elements  of 
romance.  As  a  picture  of  the  manners  and  customs 
of  the  Merovingian  epoch  we  cannot  do  better  than 
to  tell  the  stories  of  these  queens,  Fredegonde  and 
Brunehild  by  name,  whose  rivalry  and  enmity,  with 
their  consequences,  throw  a  striking  light  on  the 
history  of  those  obscure  times. 

France  at  that  time  was  divided  into  three  king 
doms,  Austrasia,  Neustria,  and  Burgundy,  King 
Chilperic  reigning  over  Austrasia;  King  Sigebert 
over  Neustria.  But  the  power  behind  the  throne  lay 
in  the  wives  of  these  kings,  with  whom  alone  we 
have  to  do.  Contrasted  characters  they  were, — 
Fredegonde  wicked,  faithless,  self-seeking;  Brunehild 
patriotic  and  devoted  to  the  good  of  her  country  j 
28 


THE   RIVAL   QUEENS.  29 

yet  in  the  end  wickedness  triumphed,  and  honesty — 
such  honesty  as  that  age  admitted  of— died  a  violent 
and  frightful  death.  With  this  preliminary  we  may 
proceed  with  our  tale. 

Fredegonde  was  the  daughter  of  poor  peasants, 
who  dwelt  in  the  vicinity  of  Montdidier  in  Picardy. 
But  so  striking  and  notable  was  her  beauty  that  at 
an  early  age  she  was  made,  under  circumstances  of 
which  we  are  not  informed,  one  of  the  ladies  in 
waiting  on  Queen  Andovere.  the  first  wife  of  King 
Chilperic.  The  poor  queen  was  destined  to  suffer 
from  the  artfulness  of  her  maid.  The  beauty  of 
Predegonde  quickly  attracted  the  attention  of  the 
king,  and  her  skilful  and  unscrupulous  arts  soon  made 
her  a  power  in  the  court.  The  queen  was  in  her 
way ;  but  no  long  time  passed  before,  on  the  pretext 
of  a  spiritual  relationship  with  her  husband  which 
rendered  the  marriage  illegal,  the  hapless  Andovere 
was  repudiated  and  banished  to  a  convent. 

But  Chilperic  was  not  yet  ready  to  marry  a  peas 
ant.  He  chose  for  his  second  wife  Galsuinthe, 
daughter  of  the  king  of  the  Yisigoths.  This  mar 
riage  lasted  a  still  shorter  time  than  the  other.  Gal 
suinthe  was  found  strangled  in  her  bed ;  and  now,  no 
longer  able  to  restrain  his  passion  for  the  beautiful 
and  artful  maid  of  honor,  Chilperic  married  Frede 
gonde,  and  raised  the  peasant  maiden  to  the  throne 
for  which  she  had  so  deeply  and  darkly  wrought. 

The  marriage  of  Galsuinthe  had  been  preceded  by 

that  of  her  younger  sister,  Brunehild,  who  became 

the  wife  of  Sigebert,  brother  of  Chilperic  and  king 

of   Austrasia.       The    murder   of    Galsuinthe    was 

3* 


30  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

ascribed  by  Brunehild  to  Fredegonde,  with  excellent 
reason  if  we  may  judge  from  her  subsequent  career, 
and  from  that  day  on  an  undying  hatred  existed 
between  the  two  queens.  To  this  the  stirring 
incidents  of  their  after  lives  were  due.  War  broke 
out  between  the  two  kings,  probably  inspired  by 
Brunehild's  thirst  for  revenge  for  her  sister's  death 
on  the  one  hand,  and  the  ambition  and  hatred  of 
Fredegonde  on  the  other.  Sigebert  was  successful 
in  the  field,  but  treachery  soon  robbed  him  of  the 
fruits  of  victory.  He  was  murdered  in  his  tent  (in 
the  year  575)  by  two  assassins  in  the  pay  of  Queen 
Fredegonde. 

This  murder  gave  Chilperic  the  ascendancy.  Sige- 
bert's  army  disbanded,  and  Brunehild,  as  the  only 
means  of  preserving  her  life,  sought  an  asylum  in 
the  cathedral  of  Paris.  And  now  the  scene  becomes 
one  of  rapid  changes,  in  which  the  unscrupulous 
Fredegonde  plays  the  leading  part.  Chilperic,  not 
daring  to  offend  the  church  by  slaying  the  fugitive 
queen  under  its  protection,  sent  her  to  Kouen.  Here 
the  widowed  lady,  her  beauty  rendered  more  attrac 
tive  by  her  misfortunes,  was  seen  and  loved  by 
Merovee,  the  son  of  Chilperic  by  his  first  wife,  then 
in  that  town  on  a  mission  from  his  father.  Fired 
with  passion  for  the  hapless  queen,  he  married  her 
privately,  the  Bishop  of  Eouen  sealing  their  union. 

This  imprudent  action  soon  became  known  at  the 
court  of  Chilperic,  and  the  ambitious  Fredegonde 
hastened  to  turn  it  to  her  advantage.  Merovee  was 
heir  to  the  throne  of  Chilperic.  He  was  in  her  way, 
and  had  now  given  l>er  a  pretext  for  his  removal. 


THE   RIVAL   QUEENS.  31 

Chilperic,  who  seems  to  have  been  the  weak  slave  of 
her  designs,  would  have  seized  both  Merovee  and  his 
bride  but  for  the  Austrasians,  who  demanded  that 
their  queen  Brunehild  should  be  restored  to  them, 
and  enforced  their  demands  with  threats.  She  was 
surrendered ;  but  Merovee,  under  the  influence  of  his 
step-mother,  was  imprisoned,  then  shorn  and  shut  up 
in  a  monastery,  and  afterwards  became  a  fugitive, 
and  was  urged  to  head  a  rebellion  against  his  father. 
Such  was  the  terror,  however,  which  the  unhappy 
youth  entertained  for  his  cruel  step-mother,  that  he 
put  an  end  to  his  existence  by  suicide,  inducing  a 
faithful  servant  to  strike  him  dead, 

Fredegonde's  success  in  getting  rid  of  one  of 
the  heirs  to  the  throne,  only  partly  satisfied  her 
ambitious  views.  There  was  another  son,  Clovis, 
brother  of  Merovee.  To  rid  herself  of  him  the  wily 
queen  took  another  course.  Three  of  her  own  chil 
dren  had  recently  died,  and  she  ascribed  their  death 
to  Clovis,  whom  she  accused  of  sorcery.  He  was 
seized  under  this  charge,  thrown  into  prison,  and 
there  ended  his  career,  a  poniard-thrust  closing  his 
brief  tale  of  life.  The  tale  of  murders  in  this  direc 
tion  was  completed  by  that  of  the  repudiated  Queen 
Andovere,  who  was  soon  found  strangled  in  the  con 
vent  to  which  she  had  been  consigned. 

Fredegonde  had  thus  rid  herself  of  all  claimants 
to  the  throne  outside  of  herself  and  her  descend 
ants,  Galsuinthe  having  left  no  children.  Though 
death  had  recently  robbed  her  of  three  children,  one 
survived,  a  son  named  Clotaire,  then  a  few  months 
old.  Her  next  act  of  treachery  was  to  make  away 


32  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

with  her  weak  and  confiding  husband,  perhaps  that 
she  might  reign  alone,  perhaps  through  fear  that 
Chilperic  might  discover  her  guilty  relations  with 
Landry,  an  officer  of  the  court,  and  subsequently 
mayor  of  the  palace.  Whatever  the  reason,  soon 
after  these  events,  King  Chilperic,  while  in  the  act 
of  dismounting  on  his  return  from  the  chase,  was 
struck  two  mortal  blows  by  a  man  who  took  to 
rapid  flight,  while  all  around  the  cry  was  raised, 
"  Treason !  it  is  the  hand  of  the  Austrasian  Childe- 
bert  against  our  lord  the  king !" 

The  readiness  with  which  this  cry  was  raised 
seemed  evidence  of  its  falsity.  Men  ascribed  it  and 
the  murder  to  emissaries  of  Fredegonde.  But,  heed 
less  of  their  opinions,  she  installed  herself  as  sov 
ereign  guardian  of  her  infant  son,  and  virtual  reign 
ing  queen  of  Neustria.  It  was  now  the  year  584. 
Fredegonde  had  by  her  beauty,  ambition,  boldness, 
and  unscrupulousness  raised  herself  from  the  lowly 
rank  of  a  peasant's  daughter  to  the  high  position  of 
sovereign  over  a  great  dominion,  a  queenship  which 
she  was  to  hold  during  the  remainder  of  her  life,  her 
strong  will,  effrontery,  artifice,  skill  in  deception,  and 
readiness  to  strengthen  her  position  by  crime,  ena 
bling  her  to  overcome  all  resistance  and  maintain 
her  ascendancy  over  the  restless  and  barbarous  ele 
ments  of  the  kingdom  she  ruled.  She  was  a  true 
product  of  the  times,  one  born  to  become  dominant 
over  a  barbarous  people. 

Gregory  of  Tours  tells  a  story  of  Chilperic  and 
Fredegonde,  which  will  bear  repetition  here  as  a 
picture  of  the  times.  In  addition  to  the  sons  of  Chil- 


THE   RIVAL   QUEENS,  33 

peric,  of  whom  the  queen  disposed  as  we  have  seen, 
he  had  a  daughter,  Eigouthe  by  name,  whom  he 
promised  in  marriage  to  Prince  Eecared,  son  of  the 
king  of  the  Visigoths  of  Spain. 

"  A  grand  deputation  Df  Goths  came  to  Paris  to 
fetch  the  Frankish  princess.  King  Chilperic  ordered 
several  families  in  the  fiscal  domains  to  be  seized  and 
placed  in  cars.  As  a  great  number  of  them  wept 
and  were  not  willing  to  go,  he  had  them  kept  in 
prison  that  he  might  more  easily  force  them  to  go 
away  with  his  daughter.  It  is  said  that  several,  in 
their  despair,  hung  themselves,  fearing  to  be  taken 
from  their  parents.  Sons  were  separated  from 
fathers,  daughters  from  mothers,  and  all  departed 
with  deep  groans  and  maledictions,  and  in  Paris 
there  reigned  a  desolation  like  that  of  Egypt.  Not 
a  few,  of  superior  birth,  being  forced  to  go  away, 
even  made  wills  whereby  they  left  their  possessions 
to  the  churches,  and  demanded  that,  so  soon  as  the 
young  girl  should  have  entered  Spain,  their  wills 
should  be  opened  just  as  if  they  were  already  in 
their  graves. 

"  When  King  Chilperic  gave  up  his  daughter  to 
the  ambassadors  of  the  G-oths,  he  presented  them 
with  vast  treasures.  Queen  Fredegonde  added  there 
to  so  great  a  quantity  of  gold  and  silver  and  valuable 
vestments  that,  at  the  sight  thereof,  the  king  thought 
he  must  have  nought  remaining.  The  queen,  per 
ceiving  his  emotion,  turned  to  the  Franks,  and  said 
to  them, — 

"  '  Think  not,  warriors,  that  there  is  here  aught  of 
the  treasures  of  former  kings.  All  that  ye  see  is 
in. — c 


34  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

taken  from  my  own  possessions,  for  my  most  glori 
ous  king  has  made  me  many  gifts.  Thereto  have  I 
added  of  the  fruits  of  my  own  toil,  and  a  great  part 
proceeds  from  the  revenues  I  have  drawn,  either  in 
kind  or  in  money,  from  the  houses  that  have  been 
ceded  unto  me.  Ye  yourselves  have  given  me 
riches,  and  ye  see  here  a  portion  thereof;  but  there 
is  here  nought  of  the  public  treasure.' 

"And  the  king  was  deceived  into  believing  her 
words.  Such  was  the  multitude  of  golden  and  silver 
articles  and  other  precious  things  that  it  took  fifty 
wagons  to  hold  them.  The  Franks,  on  their  part, 
made  many  offerings ;  some  gave  gold,  others  silver, 
sundry  gave  horses,  but  most  of  them  vestments. 

"At  last  the  young  girl,  with  many  tears  and 
kisses,  said  farewell.  As  she  was  passing  through 
the  gate  an  axle  of  her  carriage  broke,  and  all  cried 
out  < Alack!'  which  was  interpreted  by  some  as  a 
presage.  She  departed  from  Paris,  and  at  eight 
miles'  distance  from  the  city  she  had  her  tents 
pitched.  During  the  night  fifty  men  arose  and, 
having  taken  a  hundred  of  the  best  horses,  and  as 
many  golden  bits  and  bridles,  and  two  large  silver 
dishes,  fled  away,  and  took  refuge  with  King  Chil- 
debert.  During  the  whole  journey  whoever  could 
escape  fled  away  with  all  that  he  could  lay  hands 
on.  It  was  required  also  of  all  the  towns  that  were 
traversed  on  the  way  that  they  should  make  great 
preparations  to  defray  expenses,  for  the  king  forbade 
any  contribution  from  the  treasury.  All  the  charges 
were  met  by  extraordinary  taxes  levied  upon  the 
Door." 


THE  RIVAL   QUEENS.  35 

In  this  story  there  is  probably  much  exaggeration, 
but  it  has  its  significance  as  a  picture  of  life  in  the 
dark  ages,  from  one  to  the  manner  born.  So  far  as 
Fredegonde  was  concerned,  the  marriage  of  Eigouthe 
removed  from  her  path  one  possible  future  rival  for 
the  throne. 

Twice  in  the  foregoing  pages  Childebert  of  Austra- 
sia  has  been  mentioned.  Who  was  this  Childebert,  it 
may  be  asked  ?  He  was  the  son  of  Brunehild,  whom 
the  Austrasians  had  preserved  after  the  murder  of 
their  king,  and  as  a  guardian  for  whom  they  had 
insisted  on  the  return,  by  Chilperic,  of  the  captive 
queen.  Brunehild  from  that  time  reigned  in  Aus- 
trasia  during  the  minority  of  her  son,  and  in  a  man 
ner  in  striking  contrast  with  the  reign  of  her  wicked 
rival. 

Unlike  the  latter,  she  was  a  princess  by  birth,  and 
of  that  race  of  Gothic  kings  who  had  preserved  some 
traces  of  the  Eoman  civilization.  Fredegonde  was 
a  barbarian,  Brunehild  a  scion  of  a  semi-civilization 
and  far  superior  to  her  rival  in  culture  and  intellectual 
power.  She  was  by  no  means  an  estimable  char 
acter.  Few  of  those  in  power  were  in  that  day. 
But  as  a  queen  she  did  so  much  for  her  country  that 
her  name  as  a  public  benefactor  was  long  afterwards 
remembered  in  the  land.  The  highways,  the  bridges, 
all  the  public  works  of  the  state  received  her  careful 
attention,  so  much  so  that  the  Eoman  roads  in 
Austrasia  received,  and  long  retained,  the  name  of 
"Brunehild's  Causeways."  Her  name  was  associ 
ated  with  many  other  things  in  the  land.  In  a  forest 
near  Bourges  men  long  pointed  out  "Brunehild's 


36  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

castle ;'  at  Etampes  was  shown  "  Brunehild's  tower," 
and  near  Cahors  "Brunehild's  fort."  A  more  inter 
esting  evidence  of  her  activity  for  the  good  of  her 
people  for  ages  existed  in  the  by- word  of  "  Brune 
hild's  alms,"  which  long  retained  the  evidence  of 
her  abundant  charities.  She  protected  men  of  letters, 
— a  rare  production  in  that  day, — and  in  return  we 
find  one  of  them,  Fortunatus,  bishop  of  Poitiers, 
dedicating  poems  to  her. 

But  the  life  of  Queen  Brunehild  was  far  from 
being  a  quiet  one.  In  addition  to  her  conflicts  with 
her  mortal  foe,  Queen  Fredegonde,  she  had  her  own 
nobles  to  fight  against.  They  seem  to  have  de 
tested  her  from  the  fact  that  her  palace  was  filled 
with  royal  officers  and  favorites,  whose  presence  ex 
cited  the  jealousy  of  the  great  landholders  and 
warriors.  But  Brunehild  protected  them,  with  un 
yielding  courage,  against  their  foes,  and  proved  her 
self  every  inch  a  queen.  It  was  a  semblance  of  the 
Koman  imperial  monarchy  which  she  wished  to  es 
tablish  in  Austrasia,  and  to  her  efforts  in  this  direc 
tion  were  due  her  struggles  with  the  turbulent  lords 
of  the  land,  whose  opposition  gave  her  more  and 
more  trouble  as  time  went  on. 

A  story  of  this  conflict  is  told  by  Gregory  of  Tours. 
One  of  the  palace  officers  of  the  queen,  Lupus,  a 
Eoman  by  birth,  but  made  by  her  duke  of  Cham 
pagne,  "  was  being  constantly  insulted  and  plundered 
by  his  enemies,  especially  by  Ursion  Bertfried.  At 
last,  having  agreed  to  slay  him,  they  marched  against 
him  with  an  army.  At  the  sight,  Brunehild,  com 
passionating  the  evil  case  of  one  of  her  lieges  unjustly 


THE   RIVAL   QUEENS.  37 

presented,  assumed  a  manly  courage,  and  thre^  her 
self  among  the  hostile  battalions,  crying,  *  Stay,  war 
riors  ;  refrain  from  this  wicked  deed ;  persecute  not 
the  innocent;  engage  not,  for  a  single  man's  sake, 
in  a  battle  which  will  desolate  the  country !'  <  Back, 
woman  F  said  Ursion  to  her ;  <  let  it  suffice  thee  to 
have  ruled  under  thy  husband's  sway.  Now  it  is 
thy  son  that  reigns,  and  his  kingdom  is  under  our 
protection,  not  thine.  Back!  if  thou  wouldst  not 
that  the  hoofs  of  our  horses  trample  thee  under  as 
the  dust  of  the  ground !'  After  the  dispute  had  lasted 
some  time  in  this  strain,  the  queen,  by  her  address, 
at  last  prevented  the  battle  from  taking  place." 

The  words  of  Ursion  were  prophetic.  To  be 
trampled  under  horses'  hoofs  into  the  dust  was  the 
final  fate  of  the  queen,  though  for  many  years  yet 
she  was  to  retain  her  power  and  to  keep  up  her  strife 
with  the  foes  who  surrounded  her.  Far  nobler  of 
soul  than  Fredegonde,  she  was  as  strong  in  all  those 
qualities  which  go  to  make  a  vigorous  queen. 

But  we  must  hasten  on  to  the  end  of  these  royal 
rivals.  Fredegonde  died  quietly  in  Paris,  in  597, 
powerful  to  her  death,  and  leaving  on  the  throne  her 
son  Clotaire  II.,  whom  she  had  infected  with  all  her 
hatred  against  the  queen  of  Austrasia.  Brunehild 
lived  till  614,  thirty-nine  years  after  the  death  of  her 
husband  Sigebert,  and  through  the  reins  of  her  son 
and  two  of  her  grandsons,  who  were  but  puppets  in 
her  hands.  Her  later  years,  and  perhaps  most  of 
her  life,  were  marked  by  lack  of  womanly  virtue, 
and  by  an  unscrupulousness  in  ridding  herself  of  her 
enemies  significant  of  barbarous  times.  At  length, 

4 


38  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

when  she  had  reached  the  advanced  age  of  eighty 
years,  she  was  deserted  by  her  army  and  her  people 
whom  the  crimes  imputed  to  her  had  incensed,  and 
fell  into  the  hands  of  her  mortal  foe,  Clotaire  II.,  in 
whom  all  the  venom  of  his  cruel  mother  seemed 
retained. 

After  having  subjected  the  aged  queen  to  base  and 
gross  insults  and  severe  tortures,  the  crowned  wretch 
had  her  paraded  on  a  camel  in  front  of  his  whole 
army,  and  then  tied  by  one  arm,  one  foot,  and  hair 
of  her  head  to  the  tail  of  an  unbroken  horse,  which 
dashed  and  kicked  her  to  pieces  as  he  rushed  away 
in  affright,  before  the  eyes  of  the  ferocious  Clotaire 
and  his  army. 

By  the  death  of  Brunehild  and  her  sons,  whom 
Clotaire  also  put  to  death,  this  king  became  master 
of  Austrasia,  and  thus  lord  of  all  France,  the  successor 
in  power  of  the  two  queens  whose  story  stands  out 
BO  prominently  in  that  dark  and  barbarous  age. 


ROLAND  AT  RONCESVALLES. 

FROM  the  long,  straight  ridge  of  the  Pyrenees, 
stretching  from  the  Bay  of  Biscay  to  the  Mediterra 
nean,  and  dividing  the  land  of  France  from  that  of 
Spain,  there  extend  numerous  side-hills,  like  but 
tresses  to  the  main  mountain  mass,  running  far  into 
the  plains  on  either  side.  Between  these  rugged 
buttresses  lie  narrow  valleys,  now  spreading  into 
broad  amphitheatres,  now  contracting  into  straight 
ened  ravines,  winding  upward  to  the  passes  across 
the  mountain  chain.  Dense  forests  often  border 
these  valleys,  covering  the  mountain-sides  and  sum 
mits,  and  hiding  with  their  deep-green  foliage  the 
rugged  rocks  from  which  they  spring.  Such  is  the 
scene  of  the  celebrated  story  which  we  have  next 
to  tell. 

All  these  mountain  valleys  are  filled  with  legends, 
centring  around  a  great  event  and  a  mighty  hero 
of  the  remote  past,  whose  hand  and  sword  made 
famous  the  little  vale  of  Eoncesvalles,  which  lies 
between  the  defiles  of  Sizer  and  Yal  Carlos,  in  the 
land  of  the  Basques.  This  hero  was  Koland,  the 
nephew  of  the  great  emperor  Charlemagne,  who  has 
been  given  by  romantic  fiction  the  first  place  among 
the  legendary  Paladins  of  France,  and  made  memo- 

39 


40  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

rable  in  epic  poetry  as  the  hero  of  the  celebrated 
"  Orlando  Furioso"  of  Ariosto,  and  the  less  notable 
"  Orlando  Innamorato"  of  Boiardo. 

All  these  stories  are  based  upon  a  very  slender  fabric 
of  history,  which  would  have  been  long  since  forgot 
ten  had  not  legend  clung  to  it  with  so  loving  a  hand, 
and  credited  its  hero  with  such  a  multitude  of  mar 
vellous  deeds.  The  history  of  the  event  is  preserved 
for  us  by  Eginhard,  the  secretary  and  annalist  of 
Charlemagne.  He  takes  few  words  to  tell  what  has 
given  rise  to  innumerable  strophes. 

In  the  year  778,  Charlemagne  invaded  Spain,  then 
almost  wholly  in  the  hands  of  the  Saracens.  His 
march  was  a  victorious  one  until  Saragossa  was 
reached.  Here  he  found  himself  before  a  well-sup 
plied,  strongly-fortified,  and  fully-garrisoned  city, 
while  his  own  army  was  none  too  well  provided  with 
food.  In  the  end  he  found  it  expedient  to  retreat, 
leaving  Saragossa  still  in  Saracen  hands. 

The  retreat  was  conducted  without  loss  until  the 
Pyrenees  were  reached.  These  were  crossed  by  the 
main  body  of  the  army  without  hostile  disturbance, 
leaving  to  follow  the  baggage-train  and  a  rear -guard 
under  the  king's  nephew  Eoland,  prefect  of  the 
Marches  of  Brittany,  with  whom  were  Eginhard, 
master  of  the  household,  and  Anselm,  count  of  the 
palace ;  while  legend  adds  the  names  of  Oliver,  Eo 
land' s  bosom  friend,  the  warlike  Archbishop  Turpin, 
and  other  warriors  of  renown. 

Their  route  lay  through  the  pass  of  Eoncesvalles 
so  narrow  at  points  that  only  two,  or  at  most  three> 
men  could  move  abreast,  while  the  rugged  bordering 


ROLAND   AT   RONCESVALLES.  41 

hills  were  covered  with  dense  forest,  affording  a 
secure  retreat  for  an  ambushing  foe.  It  was  when 
the  main  body  of  the  army  was  miles  in  advance, 
and  the  rear-guard  struggling  up  this  narrow  defile, 
that  disaster  came.  Suddenly  the  surrounding  woods 
and  mountains  bristled  with  life.  A  host  of  light- 
armed  Basque  mountaineers  emerged  from  the  forest, 
and  poured  darts  and  arrows  upon  the  crowded  col 
umns  of  heavily-armed  French  below.  Eocks  were 
rolled  down  the  steep  declivities,  crushing  living  men 
beneath  their  weight.  The  surprised  troops  with 
drew  in  haste  to  the  bottom  of  the  valley,  death  pur 
suing  them  at  every  step.  The  battle  that  followed 
was  doubtless  a  severe  and  hotly-contested  one ;  the 
prominent  place  it  has  gained  in  tradition  indicates 
that  the  French  must  have  defended  themselves 
valiantly ;  but  they  fought  at  a  terrible  disadvantage, 
and  in  the  end  they  were  killed  to  a  man.  Then  the 
assailants,  rich  with  the  plunder  which  they  had 
obtained  from  the  baggage- wagons  and  the  slain 
bodies,  vanished  into  the  forests  whence  they  came, 
leaving  to  Charlemagne,  when  he  returned  in  search 
of  Eoland  and  his  men,  only  the  silence  of  death  and 
the  livid  heaps  of  the  slain  in  that  terrible  valley  of 
slaughter. 

Such  is  the  sober  fact.  Fancy  has  adorned  it 
with  a  thousand  loving  fictions.  In  the  valleys  are 
told  a  multitude  of  tales  connected  with  Eoland's 
name.  A  part  of  his  armor  has  given  its  name  to  a 
flower  of  the  hills,  the  casque  de  Boland,  a  species  of 
hellebore.  The  breiche  de  Roland,  a  deep  fissure  in 
the  mountain  crest,  is  ascribed  to  a  stroke  of  his 
4* 


42  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

mighty  blade.  The  sound  of  his  magic  horn  still 
seems  to  echo  around  those  rugged  crests  and  pulse 
through  those  winding  valleys,  as  it  did  on  the  day 
when,  as  legend  says,  it  was  borne  to  the  ears  of 
Charlemagne  miles  away,  and  warned  him  of  the 
deadly  peril  of  his  favorite  chieftain. 

This  horn  had  supernatural  powers.  Its  sound 
was  so  intense  as  to  split  all  other  horns.  The  story 
goes  that  Eoland,  himself  sadly  wounded,  his  fellows 
falling  thickly  around  him,  blew  upon  it  so  mighty 
a  blast  that  the  veins  and  nerves  of  his  neck  burst 
under  the  effort.  The  sound  reached  the  ears  of 
Charlemagne,  then  encamped  eight  miles  away,  in 
the  Yal  Carlos  pass. 

"  It  is  Eoland's  horn,"  he  cried.  "  He  never  blows 
it  except  the  extremity  be  great.  We  must  hasten 
to  his  aid." 

"  I  have  known  him  to  sound  it  on  light  occasions," 
answered  Ganalon,  Koland's  secret  foe.  •'  He  is,  per 
haps,  pursuing  some  wild  beast,  and  the  sound  echoes 
through  the  wood.  It  would  be  fruitless  to  lead 
back  your  weary  host  to  seek  him." 

Charlemagne  yielded  to  his  specious  argument, 
and  Eoland  and  all  his  followers  died.  Charles  after 
wards  discovered  the  body  with  the  arms  extended 
in  the  form  of  a  cross,  and  wept  over  it  his  bitterest 
tears.  "There  did  Charlemagne,"  says  the  legend, 
*c  mourn  for  Orlando  to  the  very  last  day  of  his  life. 
On  the  spot  where  he  died  he  encamped  and  caused 
the  body  to  be  embalmed  with  balsam,  myrrh,  and 
aloes.  The  whole  camp  watched  it  that  night,  hon 
oring  his  corpse  with  hymns  and  songs,  and  innumer- 


ROLAND   AT   RONCESVALLES.  43 

able  torches  and  fires  kindled  in  the  adjacent  moun 
tains." 

At  the  battle  of  Hastings  the  minstrel  Taillefer,  as 
we  have  elsewhere  told,  rode  before  the  advancing 
JSTorman  host,  singing  the  "  Song  of  Boland,"  till  a 
British  hand  stilled  his  song  and  laid  him  low  in  death. 
This  ancient  song  is  attributed,  though  doubtfully, 
to  Turold,  that  abbot  of  Peterborough  who  was  so 
detested  by  Hereward  the  "Wake.  From  it  came 
many  of  the  stories  which  afterwards  were  embodied 
in  the  epic  legends  of  mediaeval  days.  To  quote  a 
few  passages  from  it  may  not  be  amiss.  The  poet 
tells  us  that  Eoland  refused  to  blow  his  magic  horn 
in  the  beginning  of  the  battle.  In  the  end,  when 
ruin  and  death  were  gathering  fast  around,  and 
blood  was  flowing  freely  from  his  own  veins,  he  set 
his  lips  to  the  mighty  instrument,  and  filled  vales 
and  mountains  with  its  sound. 

11  With  pain  and  dolor,  groan  and  pant, 
Count  Roland  sounds  his  Olifant : 
The  crimson  stream  shoots  from  his  lips ; 
The  blood  from  bursten  temple  drips ; 
But  far,  oh,  far,  the  echoes  ring, 
And  in  the  denies  reach  the  king, 
Reach  Naymes  and  the  French  array ; 
*  ;Tis  Roland's  horn,'  the  king  doth  say ; 
1  He  only  sounds  when  brought  to  bay.1 
How  huge  the  rocks !  how  dark  and  steep 
The  streams  are  swift ;  the  valleys  deep ! 
Out  blare  the  trumpets,  one  and  all, 
As  Charles  responds  to  Roland's  call. 
Round  wheels  the  king,  with  choler  mad 
The  Frenchmen  follow,  grim  and  sad ; 


44  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

No  one  but  prays  for  Roland's  life, 
Till  they  have  joined  him  in  the  strife. 
But,  ah  .  what  prayer  can  alter  fate  ? 
The  time  is  past ;  too  late !  too  late  I" 

The  fight  goes  on.  More  of  the  warriors  fall 
Oliver  dies.  Eoland  and  Turpin  continue  the  fight, 
Once  more  a  blast  is  sent  from  the  magic  horn. 

"  Then  Koland  takes  his  horn  once  more ; 
His  blast  is  feebler  than  before, 
But  still  it  reaches  the  emperor 
He  hears  it,  and  he  halts  to  shout, 

*  Let  clarions,  one  and  all,  ring  out  I* 
Then  sixty  thousand  clarions  ring, 
And  rocks  and  dales  set  echoing. 
And  they,  too,  hear, — the  pagan  pack  ; 
They  force  the  rising  laughter  back : 

*  Charles,  Charles,'  they  cry,  *  is  on  our  track  I 
They  fly ;  and  Koland  stands  alone, — 
Alone,  afoot ;  his  steed  is  gone." 

Turpin  dies.  Eoland  remains  the  sole  survivor  of 
the  host,  and  he  hurt  unto  death.  He  falls  on  the 
field  in  a  swoon.  A  wounded  Saracen  rises,  and,  see 
ing  him,  says, — 

"  Vanquished,  he  is  vanquished,  the  nephew  of 
Charles !  There  is  his  sword,  which  I  will  carry  off 
to  Arabia."  He  knew  not  the  power  of  the  dying 
hero. 

"  And  as  he  makes  to  draw  the  steel, 
A  something  does  Sir  Koland  feel ; 
He  opes  his  eyes,  says  nought  but  this, 

*  Thou  art  not  one  of  us,  I  wis,' 
Kaises  the  horn  he  would  not  quit, 

And  cracks  the  pagan's  skull  with  it.  ... 


EOLAND   AT   RONCESVALLES.  45 

And  then  the  touch  of  death  that  steals 
Down,  down  from  head  to  heart  he  feels ; 
Under  yon  pine  he  hastes  away 
On  the  green  turf  his  head  to  lay ; 
Placing  heneath  him  horn  and  sword, 
He  turns  towards  the  Paynim  horde, 
And  there,  heneath  the  pine,  he  sees 
A  vision  of  old  memories ; 
A  thought  of  realms  he  helped  to  win, 
Of  his  sweet  France,  of  kith  and  kin, 
And  Charles,  his  lord,  who  nurtured  him." 

And  here  let  us  take  our  leave  of  Eoland  the  brave, 
whose  brief  story  of  fact  has  been  rounded  into  so 
vast  a  story  of  fiction  that  the  actual  histories  of 
few  men  equal  in  extent  that  of  this  hero  of  ro 
mance. 


CHARLEMAGNE  AND  THE 
AVARS. 

STRIKING  is  the  story  which  the  early  centuries  of 
modern  Europe  have  to  tell  us.  After  the  era  of  the 
busy  building  of  empire  in  which  the  sturdy  old 
Eomans  were  the  active  agents,  there  came  an  era 
of  the  overthrow  of  empire,  during  which  the  vast 
results  of  centuries  of  active  civilization  seemed 
about  to  sink  and  be  lost  in  the  seething  whirlpool 
of  barbarism.  The  wild  hordes  of  the  north  of 
Europe  overflowed  the  rich  cities  and  smiling  plains 
of  the  south,  and  left  ruin  where  they  found  wealth 
and  splendor.  Later,  the  half-savage  nomades  of 
eastern  Europe  and  northern  Asia — the  devastating 
Huns — poured  out  upon  the  budding  kingdoms  which 
had  succeeded  the  mighty  empire  of  Eome,  and 
threatened  to  trample  under  foot  all  that  was  left  of 
the  work  of  long  preceding  ages.  Civilization  had 
swung  downward  into  barbarism;  was  barbarism 
to  swing  downward  into  savagery,  and  man  return 
to  his  primitive  state  ? 

Against  such  a  conceivable  fate  of  Europe  Charle 
magne  served  as  a  mighty  bulwark,  and  built  by  his 
genius  an  impermeable  wall  against  the  torrent  of 
savage  invasion,  saying  to  its  inflowing  waves,  "  Thus 
46 


CHARLEMAGNE  AND  THE  AVARS.         47 

far  shalt  thou  come,  and  no  farther."  Attila,  the 
"Scourge  of  God,"  in  the  track  of  whose  horses' 
hoofs  "no  grass  could  grow,"  met  his  only  great  de 
feat  at  Chalons-sur-Marne,  on  the  soil  of  France.  He 
died  in  Hungary ;  his  hordes  were  scattered ;  Europe 
again  began  to  breathe.  But  not  long  had  the  Huns 
of  Attila  ceased  their  devastations  when  another  tribe 
of  Hunnish  origin  appeared,  and  began  a  like  career  of 
ravage  and  ruin.  These  called  themselves  Avars. 
Small  in  numbers  at  first,  they  grew  by  vanquishing 
and  amalgamating  other  tribes  of  Huns  until  they 
became  the  terror  and  threatened  to  become  the 
masters  of  Europe.  Hungary,  the  centre  of  Attila's 
great  circle  of  power,  was  made  their  place  of  abode. 
Here  was  the  palace  and  stronghold  of  their  mon- 
archs,  the  Chagans,  and  here  they  continued  a  threat 
to  all  the  surrounding  nations,  while  enjoying  the 
vast  spoils  which  they  had  wrung  from  ruined 
peoples. 

Time  passed  on ;  civilization  showed  feeble  signs 
of  recovery ;  France  and  Italy  became  its  abiding- 
places  ;  but  barbarian  invasion  still  threatened  these 
lands,  and  no  security  could  be  felt  while  the  hordes 
of  the  north  and  east  remained  free  to  move  at  will. 
This  was  the  task  that  Charlemagne  was  born  to 
perform.  Before  his  day  the  Huns  of  the  east,  the 
Saxons  of  the  north,  the  Moors  of  the  south  kept 
the  growing  civilization  of  France  in  constant  alarm. 
After  his  day  aggression  by  land  was  at  an  end ;  only 
by  sea  could  the  north  invade  the  south. 

The  record  of  the  deeds  of  Charlemagne  is  a  long 
one.  The  Saxons  were  conquered  and  incorporated 


48  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

into  the  kingdom  of  the  Franks.  Then  collision 
with  the  Avars  took  place.  The  story  01  how 
Charlemagne  dealt  with  these  savage  hordes  is  one 
of  the  most  interesting  episodes  in  the  extended  tale 
of  his  wars,  and  we  therefore  select  it  for  our  present 
theme.  The  Avars  had  long  been  quiet,  but  now 
again  began  to  stir,  making  two  invasions,  one  of 
Lombardy,  the  other  of  Bavaria.  Eoth  were  repelled. 
Stung  by  defeat,  they  raised  a  greater  army  than 
before,  and  in  788  crossed  the  Danube,  determined 
in  their  savage  souls  to  teach  these  proud  Franks  a 
lesson,  and  write  on  their  land  in  blood  the  old  story 
of  the  prowess  and  invincibility  of  the  Huns.  To 
their  alarm  and  astonishment  they  found  themselves 
not  only  checked,  but  utterly  routed,  thousands  of 
them  being  lefb  dead  upon  the  field,  and  other  thou 
sands  swallowed  up  by  the  Danube,  in  their  wild 
effort  to  swim  that  swollen  stream. 

This  brings  us  to  the  record  of  the  dealings  of 
Charlemagne  with  the  Huns,  who  had  thus  dared  to 
invade  his  far-extending  kingdom.  Yast  had  been 
the  work  of  this  mighty  monarch  in  subduing  the 
unquiet  realms  around  him.  Italy  had  been  made  a 
part  of  his  dominions,  Spain  invaded  and  quieted,  and 
the  Saxons,  the  fiercest  people  of  the  north,  forced 
to  submit  to  the  power  of  the  Franks.  Now  the 
Avars  of  Hungary,  the  most  dangerous  of  the  re 
maining  neighbors  of  Charlemagne's  great  empire, 
were  to  be  dealt  with. 

During  the  two  years  succeeding  their  defeat,  over 
tures  for  peace  passed  between  the  Avars  and  Char 
lemagne,  overtures  which,  perhaps,  had  their  chief 


CHARLEMAGNE  AND  THE  AVARS.        49 

purpose  in  the  desire  to  gain  time  to  prepare  for 
war. 

These  nomadic  hordes  were  celebrated  alike  for 
their  cunning  and  their  arrogance, — cunning  when 
they  had  an  object  to  gain,  arrogance  when  they  had 
gained  it.  In  their  dealings  with  Charlemagne  they 
displayed  the  same  mixture  of  artfulness  and  inso 
lence  which  they  had  employed  in  their  dealings  with 
the  empire  of  the  East.  But  they  had  now  to  do  with 
a  different  man  from  the  weak  emperors  of  Constan 
tinople.  Charlemagne  continued  his  negotiations, 
but  prepared  for  hostilities,  and  in  the  spring  of 
791  put  himself  at  the  head  of  a  powerful  army,  pre 
pared  to  repay  the  barbarian  hordes  with  some  of 
the  havoc  which  they  had  dealt  out  to  the  other 
nations  of  Europe. 

It  was  no  light  task  he  had  undertaken,  and  the 
great  general  made  ready  for  it  with  the  utmost  care 
and  deliberation.  He  was  about  to  invade  a  country 
of  great  resources,  of  remarkable  natural  and  arti 
ficial  defences,  and  inhabited  by  a  people  celebrated 
for  their  fierceness  and  impetuosity,  and  who  had 
hitherto  known  little  besides  victory.  And  he  was 
to  leave  behind  him  in  his  march  a  kingdom  full  of 
unquiet  elements,  which  needed  the  presence  of  his 
strong  arm  and  quick  mind  to  keep  it  in  subjection. 
He  knew  not  but  that  the  Saxons  might  rise  upon 
his  march  and  spread  ruin  upon  his  path.  There  was 
one  way  to  avoid  this,  and  that  he  took.  Years  before, 
he  had  incorporated  the  Lombards  with  his  army, 
and  found  them  to  fight  as  valiantly  for  him  as 
against  him.  He  now  did  the  same  with  the  Saxons, 
in. — c  d  5 


50  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

drafting  a  large  body  of  them  into  his  ranks,  with 
the  double  purpose  of  weakening  the  fighting  power 
of  the  nation,  and  employing  their  fierce  courage  in 
his  own  service.  All  winter  the  world  of  the  Franks 
was  in  commotion,  preparing  for  war.  The  chron 
iclers  of  the  times  speak  of  "  innumerable  multi 
tudes"  which  the  great  conqueror  set  in  motion  in 
the  early  spring. 

The  army  marched  in  three  grand  divisions.  One 
entered  Bavaria,  joined  to  itself  recruits  raised  in 
that  country,  and  descended  the  Danube  in  boats, 
which  carried  also  an  abundance  of  provisions  and 
military  stores.  A  second  division,  under  Charle 
magne  himself,  marched  along  the  southern  side  of 
the  river ;  and  a  third,  under  his  generals  Theoderic 
and  Meginfried,  along  its  northern  banks.  The  em 
peror  had  besides  sent  orders  to  his  son  Pepin,  king 
of  Italy,  bidding  him  to  lead  an  army  of  Lombards 
and  other  Italians  to  the  frontier  of  Hungary,  and 
co-operate  with  the  other  troops. 

Before  telling  the  story  of  the  expedition,  it  be 
hooves  us  to  give  some  account  of  the  country  which 
the  king  of  the  Franks  was  about  to  invade,  and 
particularly  to  describe  the  extraordinary  defences  and 
interior  conditions  with  which  it  is  credited  by  the 
gossipy  old  Monk  of  St.  Gall,  the  most  entertaining, 
though  hardly  the  most  credible,  writer  of  that 
period.  All  authors  admit  that  the  country  of  the 
Avars  was  defended  by  an  ingenious  and  singular 
system  of  fortifications.  The  account  we  propose  to 
give,  the  Monk  of  St.  Gall  declares  that  he  wrote 
down  from  the  words  of  an  eye-witness,  Adelbart  by 


CHARLEMAGNE  AND  THE  AVARS.        51 

name,  who  took  part  in  the  expedition.  But  one 
cannot  help  thinking  that  either  this  eye-witness 
mingled  a  strong  infusion  of  imagination  with  his 
vision,  or  that  the  monk  added  fiction  to  his  facts, 
with  the  laudable  purpose  of  making  an  attractive 
story.  Such  as  it  is,  we  give  it,  without  farther  com 
ment. 

Nine  concentric  circles  of  palisaded  walls,  says  the 
garrulous  old  monk,  surrounded  the  country  of  the 
Avars,  the  outer  one  enclosing  the  entire  realm  of 
Hungary,  the  inner  ones  growing  successively  smaller, 
the  innermost  being  the  central  fortification  within 
which  dwelt  the  Chagan,  with  his  palace  and  his 
treasures.  These  walls  were  made  of  double  rows 
of  palisades  of  oak,  beech,  and  pine  logs,  twenty  feet 
high  and  twenty  feet  asunder,  the  interval  between 
them  being  filled  with  stone  and  lime.  Thus  was 
formed  a  great  wall,  which  at  a  distance  must  have 
presented  a  singular  appearance,  since  the  top  was 
covered  with  soil  and  planted  with  bushes  and  trees. 

The  outermost  wall  surrounded  the  whole  country. 
Within  it,  at  a  distance  of  twenty  Teutonic,  or  forty 
Italian,  miles,  was  a  second,  of  smaller  diameter, 
but  constructed  in  the  same  manner.  At  an  equal 
distance  inward  was  a  third,  and  thu«  they  continued 
inward,  fortress  after  fortress,  to  the  number  of  nine, 
the  outer  one  rivalling  the  Chinese  wall  in  extent, 
the  inner  one — the  ring,  as  it  was  called — being  of 
small  diameter,  and  enclosing  a  central  space  within 
which  the  Avars  guarded  the  accumulated  wealth  of 
centuries  of  conquest  and  plunder. 

The  only  places  of  exit  from  these  great  palisaded 


52  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

fortifications  were  very  narrow  gates,  or  sally-ports, 
opening  at  proper  intervals,  and  well  guarded  by 
armed  sentinels.  The  space  between  the  successive 
ramparts  was  a  well-wooded  and  thickly-settled 
country,  filled  with  villages  and  homesteads,  so  close 
together  that  the  sound  of  a  trumpet  could  be  heard 
from  one  to  the  other,  and  thus  an  alarm  from  the 
exterior  be  conveyed  with  remarkable  rapidity 
throughout  the  whole  land. 

This  and  more  the  veracious  Monk  of  St.  Gall 
tells  us.  As  to  believing  him,  that  is  quite  another 
matter.  Sufficient  is  told  by  other  writers  to  con 
vince  us  that  the  country  was  guarded  by  strong  and 
singular  defences,  but  the  nine  concentric  circles  of 
breastworks,  surpassing  the  Chinese  wall  in  length 
and  size,  the  reader  is  quite  privileged  to  doubt. 

Certainly  the  defences  failed  to  check  the  advance 
of  the  army  of  Charlemagne.  Though  he  had  begun 
his  march  in  the  spring,  so  extensive  were  his  prepa 
rations  that  it  was  September  before  he  reached  the 
banks  of  the  river  Enns,  the  border  line  between 
Bavaria  and  Hungary.  Here  the  army  encamped 
for  three  days,  engaged  in  prayers  for  victory. 
Whether  as  an  effect  of  these  prayers  or  not,  encour 
aging  news  came  here  to  Charlemagne.  His  son 
Pepin,  with  the  Duke  of  Friuli,  had  already  invaded 
Hungary,  met  an  army  of  the  Avars,  and  defeated 
it  with  great  slaughter.  The  news  of  this  success 
must  have  invigorated  the  army  under  Charlemagne. 
Breaking  camp,  they  invaded  the  country  of  the 
Avars,  advancing  with  the  usual  impetuosity  of  their 
great  leader.  One  after  another  the  Hungarian  lines 


CHARLEMAGNE   AND   THE   AV  fLRS.  53 

of  defence  were  taken,  until  three  had  fallen,  while 
the  country  between  them  was  laid  waste.  No  army 
appeared  in  the  path  of  the  invaders ;  sword  in  hand, 
Charlemagne  assailed  and  broke  through  the  strong 
walls  of  his  foes ;  soon  he  reached  the  river  Eaab, 
which  he  followed  to  its  junction  with  the  Danube. 

Until  now  all  had  promised  complete  success. 
Those  frightful  Huns,  who  had  so  long  kept  Europe 
in  terror,  seemed  about  to  be  subdued  airl  made 
subjects  of  the  great  monarch  of  the  Franks,  But, 
through  that  fatality  which  so  often  ruins  the  best- 
laid  plans  of  men,  Charlemagne  suddenly  found  him 
self  in  a  perilous  and  critical  situation.  His  army 
was  composed  almost  wholly  of  cavalry.  As  he  lay 
encamped  by  the  Danube,  a  deadly  pestilence  attacked 
the  horses,  and  swept  them  off  with  such  rapidity 
that  a  hasty  retreat  became  necessary.  Nine-tenths 
of  the  horses  had  perished  before  the  retiring  army 
reached  Bavaria.  Good  fortune^  however,  attended 
the  retreat.  Had  the  Avars  recovered  from  the 
panic  into  which  their  successive  defeats  had  thrown 
them,  they  might  have  taken  a  disastrous  revenge 
upon  the  invaders.  But  as  it  was,  Charlemagne  suc 
ceeded  in  retiring  without  being  attacked,  and  was 
able  to  take  with  him  the  valuable  booty  and  the 
host  of  prisoners  which  were  the  trophies  of  his  vic 
torious  progress. 

He  fully  intended  to  return  and  complete  the  con 
quest  of  Hungary  in  the  spring,  and,  to  facilitate  his 
advance,  had  a  bridge  of  boats  constructed,  during 
the  winter,  across  the  Danube.  He  never  returned, 
as  it  happened.  Circumstances  hindered.  J  *t  in 
5* 


54  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

794  his  subject,  the  margrave  Eric,  Duke  of  Friuli, 
again  invaded  Hungary,  which  had  in  the  interval 
been  exhausted  by  civil  wars.  All  the  defences  of 
the  Avars  went  down  before  him,  and  his  victorious 
troops  penetrated  to  that  inner  fortress,  called  the 
Eing,  which  so  long  had  been  the  boasted  stronghold 
of  the  Chagaris,  and  within  whose  confines  were 
gathered  the  vast  treasures  which  the  conquering 
hordes  had  accumulated  during  centuries  of  victory 
and  plunder,  together  with  the  great  wealth  in  gold 
and  silver  coin  which  they  had  wrung  by  way  of 
tribute  from  the  weak  rulers  of  the  Eastern  Empire. 
A  conception  of  the  extent  of  this  spoil  may  be  gath 
ered  from  the  fact  that  the  Greek  emperor  during 
the  seventh  century  paid  the  Avars  annually  as 
tribute  eighty  thousand  gold  solidi,  and  that  on  a 
single  occasion  the  Emperor  Heraclius  was  forced  to 
pay  them  an  equal  sum. 

In  a  nation  that  had  made  any  progress  towards 
civilization  this  wealth  would  have  been  distributed 
and  perhaps  dissipated.  But  the  only  use  which 
the  half-savage  Avars  seem  to  have  found  for  it  was 
to  store  it  up  as  spoil.  For  centuries  it  had  been 
accumulating  within  the  treasure-house  of  the  Ring, 
in  convenient  form  to  be  seized  and  borne  away  by 
the  conquering  army  which  now  broke  into  this 
long-defiant  stronghold.  The  great  bulk  of  this 
wealth,  consisting  of  gold  and  silver  coin,  vessels  of 
the  precious  metals,  garments  of  great  value,  rich 
weapons  and  ornaments,  jewels  of  priceless  worth, 
and  innumerable  other  articles,  was  taken  to  Aix-la- 
Chapelle,  and  laid  at  the  feet  of  Charlemagne,  to  be 


CHARLEMAGNE  AND  THE  AVARS.        55 

disposed  of  as  he  saw  fit.  So  extensive  was  it,  that, 
as  we  are  told,  fifteen  wagons,  each  drawn  by  four 
oxen,  were  needed  to  convey  it  to  the  capital  of  the 
mighty  emperor. 

Charlemagne  dealt  with  it  in  a  very  different 
manner  from  that  pursued  by  the  monarchs  of  the 
Avars.  He  distributed  it  with  a  liberal  hand,  the 
church  receiving  valuable  donations,  including  some 
of  the  most  splendid  objects,  a  large  share  being  set 
aside  for  the  pope,  and  most  of  the  balance  being 
given  to  the  poor  and  to  the  royal  officers,  nobles, 
and  soldiers.  The  amount  thus  divided  was  so  great 
that,  as  we  are  told,  the  nation  of  the  Franks  "  be 
came  rich,  whereas  they  had  been  poor  before." 
That  treasure  which  the  barbarian  invaders  had 
been  centuries  in  collecting  from  the  nations  of 
Europe  was  in  a  few  months  again  scattered  far  and 
wide. 

Eric's  invasion  was  followed  by  one  from  Pepin, 
king  of  Italy,  who  in  his  turn  entered  the  Ring, 
took  the  wealth  which  Eric's  raiders  had  left,  de 
molished  the  palace  of  the  Chagan,  and  completely 
destroyed  the  central  stronghold  of  the  Avars.  They 
were  not,  however,  fully  subdued.  Kisings  after 
wards  took  place,  invading  armies  were  destroyed, 
and  not  until  803  was  a  permanent  conquest  made. 
The  Avars  in  the  end  became  Christians, — so  far  at 
least  as  being  baptized  made  them  such, — and  held 
themselves  as  vassals  or  subjects  of  the  great  Frank- 
ish  monarch,  who  permitted  them  to  retain  some  of 
their  old  laws  and  governmental  forms.  At  a  subse 
quent  date  they  were  nearly  exterminated  by  the 


66  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

Moravians,  and  after  the  year  827  this  once  power, 
ful  people  disappear  from  history.  Part  of  their 
realm  was  incorporated  with  Moravia,  and  remained 
BO  until  the  incursion  of  the  Magyars  in  884. 

As  regards  the  location  of  the  Ring,  or  central 
stronghold  of  the  Avars,  it  is  believed  to  have  been 
in  the  wide  plain  between  the  Danube  and  the  Theiss, 
the  probable  site  being  the  Pusste-Sarto-Sar,  on  the 
right  of  the  Tatar.  Traces  of  the  wonderful  circu 
lar  wall,  or  of  the  palisaded  and  earth-filled  fortifi 
cations  of  the  Avars,  are  said  still  to  exist  in  this 
locality.  They  are  known  as  Avarian  Kings,  and  in 
a  measure  sustain  the  old  stories  told  of  them,  though 
hardly  that  of  the  legend-loving  Monk  of  St.  Gall 
and  his  romancing  informant. 


THE  CROWNING   OF  CHARLE 
MAGNE. 

CHARLEMAGNE,  the  great  king,  had  built  him 
self  an  empire  only  surpassed  by  that  of  ancient 
Rome.  All  France  was  his;  all  Italy  was  his;  all 
Saxony  and  Hungary  were  his ;  all  western  Europe 
indeed,  from  the  borders  of  Slavonia  to  the  Atlantic, 
with  the  exception  of  Spain,  was  his.  He  was  the 
bulwark  of  civilization  against  the  barbarism  of  the 
north  and  east,  the  right  hand  of  the  church  in  its 
conflict,  with  paganism,  the  greatest  and  noblest  war 
rior  the  world  had  seen  since  the  days  of  the  great 
Caesar,  and  it  seemed  fitting  that  he  should  be  given 
the  honor  which  was  his  due,  and  that  in  him  and 
his  kingdom  the  great  empire  of  Eome  should  be 
restored. 

Augustulus,  the  last  emperor  of  the  west,  had 
ceased  to  reign  in  476.  The  Eastern  Empire  was 
still  alive,  or  rather  half-alive,  for  it  was  a  life  with 
out  spirit  or  energy.  The  empire  of  the  west  had 
vanished  under  the  flood  of  barbarism,  and  for  more 
than  three  centuries  there  had  been  no  claimant  of 
the  imperial  crown.  Eut  here  was  a  strong  man, 
a  noble  man,  the  lord  and  master  of  a  mighty  realm 
which  included  the  old  imperial  city;  it  seemed  fit- 

67 


58  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

ting  that  he  should  take  the  title  of  emperor  and 
rule  over  the  western  world  as  the  successor  of  the 
famous  line  of  the  Caesars. 

So  thought  the  pope,  Leo  III.,  and  so  thought  his 
cardinals.  He  had  already  sent  to  Charlemagne  the 
keys  of  the  prison  of  St.  Peter  and  the  banner  of 
the  city  of  Borne.  In  799  he  had  a  private  inter 
view  with  the  king,  whose  purpose  no  one  knew.  In 
August  of  the  year  800,  having  settled  the  affairs 
of  his  wide-spread  kingdom,  Charlemagne  suddenly 
announced  in  the  general  assembly  of  the  Franks 
that  he  was  about  to  make  a  journey  to  Eorne.  Why 
he  went  he  did  not  say.  The  secret  was  not  yet 
ready  to  be  revealed. 

On  the  23d  of  November  the  king  of  the  Franks 
arrived  at  the  gates  of  Borne,  a  city  which  he  was 
to  leave  with  the  time-honored  title  of  Emperor  of 
the  West.  "  The  pope  received  him  as  he  was  dis 
mounting  ;  then,  on  the  next  day,  standing  on  the 
steps  of  the  basilica  of  St.  Peter  and  amidst  general 
hallelujahs,  he  introduced  the  king  into  the  sanctuary 
of  the  blessed  apostle,  glorifying  and  thanking  the 
Lord  for  this  happy  event." 

In  the  days  that  followed,  Charlemagne  examined 
the  grievances  of  the  Church  and  took  measures  to 
protect  the  pope  against  his  enemies.  And  while  he 
was  there  two  monks  came  from  Jerusalem,  bearing 
with  them  the  keys  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre  and  Cal 
vary,  and  the  sacred  standard  of  the  holy  city,  which 
the  patriarch  had  intrusted  to  their  care  to  present 
to  the  great  king  of  the  Franks.  Charlemagne  was 
thus  virtually  commissioned  as  the  defender  of  the 


THE    CROWNING   OF   CHARLEMAGNE.  59 

Cliurch  of  Christ  and  the  true  successor  of  the 
Christian  emperors  of  Eome. 

Meanwhile,  Leo  had  called  a  synod  of  the  Church 
to  consider  whether  the  title  of  emperor  should  not 
be  conferred  on  Charles  the  Great.  At  present,  he 
said,  the  Eoman  world  had  no  sovereign.  The  throne 
of  Constantinople  was  occupied  by  a  woman,  the 
Empress  Irene,  who  had  usurped  the  title  and  made 
it  her  own  by  murder.  It  was  intolerable  that 
Charles  should  be  looked  on  as  a  mere  patrician,  an 
implied  subordinate  to  this  unworthy  sovereign  of 
the  Eastern  Empire.  He  was  the  master  of  Italy, 
Gaul,  and  Germany,  said  Leo.  Who  was  there  be 
sides  him  to  act  as  Defender  of  the  Faith?  On 
whom  besides  could  the  Church  rest,  in  its  great 
conflict  with  paganism  and  unbelief? 

The  synod  agreed  with  him.  It  was  fitting  that 
the  great  king  should  be  crowned  emperor,  and 
restore  in  his  person  the  ancient  glory  of  the  realm. 
A  petition  was  sent  to  Charles.  He  answered  that, 
however  unworthy  the  honor,  he  could  not  resist  the 
desire  of  that  august  body.  And  thus  was  formally 
completed  what  probably  had  been  the  secret  under 
standing  of  the  pope  and  the  king  months  before. 
King  Charles  of  France  was  to  be  given  the  title  and 
dignity  of  Charles,  Emperor  of  the  West. 

The  season  of  the  Feast  of  the  Nativity,  Christmas- 
day  of  the  year  800,  duly  came.  It  was  destined  to 
be  a  great  day  in  the  annals  of  the  Eoman  city. 
The  chimes  of  bells  which  announced  the  dawning 
of  that  holy  day  fell  on  the  ears  of  great  multitudes 
assembled  in  the  streets  of  Eome,  all  full  of  the  grand 


60  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

event  that  day  to  be  consummated,  and  rumors  of 
which  had  spread  far  and  wide.  The  great  basilica 
of  St.  Peter  was  to  be  the  scene  of  the  imposing  cere 
mony,  and  at  the  hour  fixed  its  aisles  were  crowded 
with  the  greatest  and  the  most  devoted  and  enthusi 
astic  assemblage  it  had  ever  held,  all  eager  to  behold 
and  to  lend  their  support  to  the  glorious  act  of  coro 
nation,  as  they  deemed  it,  fixed  for  that  day,  an  act 
which,  as  they  hoped,  would  restore  Eome  to  the 
imperial  position  which  that  great  city  had  so  many 
centuries  held. 

It  was  a  noble  pile,  that  great  cathedral  of  the 
early  church.  It  had  been  recently  enriched  by 
costly  gifts  set  aside  by  Charles  from  the  spoils  of 
the  Avars,  and  converted  into  the  most  beautiful  of 
ornaments  consecrated  to  the  worship  of  Christ. 
Before  the  altar  stood  the  golden  censers,  containing 
seventeen  pounds'  weight  of  solid  gold.  Above 
gleamed  three  grand  coronas  of  solid  silver,  of  three 
hundred  and  seven  pounds  in  weight,  ablaze  with  a 
glory  of  wax-lights,  whose  beams  softly  illuminated 
the  whole  great  edifice.  The  shrine  of  St.  Peter 
dazzled  the  eyes  by  its  glittering  "  rufas,"  made  of 
forty-nine  pounds  of  the  purest  gold,  and  enriched 
by  brilliant  jewels  till  they  sparkled  like  single  great 
gems.  There  also  hung  superb  curtains  of  white 
silk,  embroidered  with  roses,  and  with  rich  and  in 
tricate  borders,  while  in  the  centre  was  a  splendid 
cross  worked  in  gold  and  purple.  Suspended  from 
the  keystone  of  the  dome  hung  the  most  attractive 
of  the  many  fine  pictures  which  adorned  the  church,  a 
peerless  painting  of  the  Saviour,  whose  beauty  drew 


THE   CROWNING   OF   CHARLEMAGNE.  61 

all  eyes  and  aroused  in  all  souls  fervent  aspirations 
of  devoted  faith.  Never  had  Christian  church  pre 
sented  a  grander  spectacle ;  never  had  one  held  so 
immense  and  enthusiastic  an  audience;  for  one  of 
the  greatest  ceremonies  the  Christian  world  had 
known  was  that  day  to  be  performed. 

Through  the  wide  doors  of  the  great  church  filed 
a  procession  of  bronzed  veterans  of  the  Frankish 
army ;  the  nobility  and  the  leading  people  of  Borne  ; 
the  nobles,  generals,  and  courtiers  who  had  followed 
Charlemagne  thither ;  warriors  from  all  parts  of  the 
empire,  with  their  corslets  and  winged  helmets  of 
steel  and  their  uniforms  of  divers  colors  ;  civic  func 
tionaries  in  their  gorgeous  robes  of  office ;  dignitaries 
of  the  church  in  their  rich  vestments ;  a  long  array 
of  priests  in  their  white  dalmatias,  until  all  Chris 
tendom  seemed  present  in  its  noblest  and  most  showy 
representatives.  Heathendom  may  have  been  repre 
sented  also,  for  it  may  be  that  messengers  from  the 
great  caliph  of  Bagdad,  the  renowned  Haroun  al 
Easchid,  the  hero  of  the  "Arabian  Nights'  Enter 
tainments,"  were  present  in  the  church.  Many 
members  of  the  royal  family  of  Charlemagne  were 
present  to  lend  dignity  to  the  scene,  and  towering 
above  them  all  was  the  great  Charles  himself,  prob 
ably  clad  in  Eoman  costume,  his  garb  as  a  patrician 
of  the  imperial  city,  which  dignity  had  been  con 
ferred  upon  him.  Loud  plaudits  welcomed  him  as 
he  rose  into  view.  There  were  many  present  who 
had  seen  him  at  the  head  of  his  army,  driving  before 
him  hosts  of  flying  Saracens,  Saxons,  Lombards,  and 
Avars,  and  to  them  he  was  the  embodiment  of  earthly 

6 


62  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

power,  the  nughty  patron  of  the  church,  and  the 
scourge  of  pagans  and  infidels ;  and  as  they  gazed 
on  his  noble  form  and  dignified  face  it  seemed  to 
some  of  them  as  if  they  looked  with  human  eyes  on 
the  face  and  form  of  a  representative  of  the  Deity. 

A  solemn  mass  was  sung,  with  all  the  impressive 
ceremony  suitable  to  the  occasion.  As  the  king  rose 
to  his  feet,  or  while  he  still  kneeled  before  the  altar 
and  the  "  confession," — the  tomb  of  St.  Peter, — the 
pope,  as  if  moved  by  a  sudden  impulse,  took  up  a 
splendid  crown  which  lay  upon  the  altar,  and  placed 
it  on  his  brow,  saying,  in  a  loud  voice, — 

"  Long  life  and  victory  to  Charles,  the  most  pious 
Augustus,  crowned  by  God  the  great  and  pacific  Em 
peror  of  the  Eomans !" 

At  once,  as  if  this  were  a  signal  for  the  breaking  of 
the  constrained  silence,  a  mighty  shout  rose  from  the 
whole  vast  assembly.  Again  and  again  it  was  re 
peated,  and  then  broke  out  the  solemn  chant  of  the 
litany,  sung  by  hundreds  of  voices,  while  Charle 
magne  stood  in  dignified  and  patient  silence.  Per 
haps  with  difficulty  he  repressed  a  frown  from  his 
brow,  for  the  act  of  the  pope  had  taken  him  by  sur 
prise,  and  he  may  have  seen  far-reaching  conse 
quences  in  the  possible  claim  that  the  emperor  owed 
his  title  to  and  was  a  subordinate  of  the  Church. 
Of  this  we  have  evidence  in  his  subsequent  remark 
that  he  "  would  not  have  set  foot  in  church  that  day 
if  he  had  foreseen  the  pope's  design." 

But  no  word  now  came  from  his  lips.  The  work 
was  done,  and  the  pope's  purpose  achieved.  At  the 
close  of  the  chant,  Leo  prostrated  himself  at  the 


THE  CORONATION  OF  CHARLEMAGNE. 


THE   CROWNING   OF   CHARLEMAGNE.  63 

feet  of  Charlemagne,  and  paid  him  adoration,  as  had 
been  the  custom  in  the  days  of  the  old  emperors. 
He  then  anointed  him  with  holy  oil.  And  from  that 
day  forward  Charles,  "  giving  up  the  title  of  patri 
cian,  hore  that  of  emperor  and  Augustus.'1 

The  ceremonies  ended  in  the  presentation  from  the 
emperor  to  the  church  of  a  great  silver  table,  and,  in 
conjunction  with  his  son  Charles  and  his  daughters, 
of  golden  vessels  belonging  to  the  table  of  five  hun 
dred  pounds'  weight.  This  great  gift  was  followed, 
on  the  Feast  of  the  Circumcision,  with  a  superb 
golden  corona  to  be  suspended  over  the  altar.  It  was 
ornamented  with  gems,  and  contained  fifty  pounds 
of  gold.  On  the  Feast  of  the  Epiphany  he  added 
three  golden  chalices,  weighing  forty-two  pounds, 
and  a  golden  paten  of  twenty-two  pounds'  weight. 
To  the  other  churches  also,  and  to  the  pope,  he  made 
magnificent  gifts,  and  added  three  thousand  pounds 
of  silver  to  be  distributed  among  the  poor. 

Thus,  after  more  than  three  centuries,  the  title  of 
Augustus  was  restored  to  the  western  world.  It  was 
destined  to  be  held  many  centuries  thereafter  by 
the  descendants  of  Charlemagne.  After  the  division 
of  his  empire  into  France  and  Germany,  the  imperial 
title  was  preserved  in  the  latter  realm,  the  fiction — 
for  it  was  little  more — that  an  emperor  of  the 
west  existed  being  maintained  down  to  the  present 
century. 

As  to  the  influence  exerted  by  the  power  and  do 
minion  of  Charlemagne  on  the  minds  of  his  contem 
poraries  and  successors,  many  interesting  stories 
might  be  told.  Fable  surrounded  him,  legend  at- 


64  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

tached  to  his  deeds,  and  at  a  later  date  he  shared  the 
honor  given  to  the  legendary  King  Arthur  of  Eng 
land,  of  being  made  a  hero  of  romance,  a  leading 
character  in  many  of  those  interminable  romances 
of  chivalry  which  formed  the  favorite  reading  of  the 
mediaeval  age. 

But  we  need  not  go  beyond  his  own  century  to 
find  him  a  hero  of  romance.  The  monk  of  the  abbey 
of  St.  Gall,  in  Switzerland,  whose  story  of  the  de 
fences  of  the  land  of  the  Avars  we  have  already 
quoted,  has  left  us  a  chronicle  full  of  surprising  tales 
of  the  life  and  doings  of  Charles  the  Great.  One  of 
these  may  be  of  interest,  as  an  example  of  the  kind 
of  history  with  which  our  ancestors  of  a  thousand 
years  ago  were,  satisfied. 

Charlemagne  was  approaching  with  his  army 
Pavia,  the  capital  of  the  Lombards.  Didier,  the 
king,  was  greatly  disquieted  at  his  approach.  With 
him  was  Ogier  the  Dane  (Ogger  the  monk  calls  him), 
one  of  the  most  famous  captains  of  Charlemagne, 
and  a  prominent  hero  of  romance.  He  had  quar 
relled  with  the  king  and  had  taken  refuge  with  the 
king  of  the  Lombards.  Thus  goes  on  the  chroniclei 
of  St.  Gall: 

"  When  Didier  and  Ogger  heard  that  the  dread 
monarch  was  coming,  they  ascended  a  tower  of  vast 
height,  where  they  could  watch  his  arrival  from  afar 
off  and  from  every  quarter.  They  saw,  first  of  all,  en 
gines  of  war  such  as  must  have  been  necessary  for 
the  armies  of  Darius  or  Julius  Caesar. 

"  <  Is  not  Charles,'  asked  Didier  of  Ogger,  '  with 
this  great  army  ?' 


THE   CROWNING   OF   CHARLEMAGNE.  65 

"But  the  other  answered,  £No.'  The  Lombard, 
seeing  afterwards  an  immense  body  of  soldiery 
gathered  from  all  quarters  of  the  vast  empire,  said 
to  Ogger,  <  Certainly,  Charles  advances  in  triumph 
in  the  midst  of  this  throng/ 

" '  No,  not  yet ;  he  will  not  appear  so  soon,'  was 
the  answer. 

"  <  What  should  we  do,  then,'  rejoined  Didier,  who 
began  to  be  perturbed,  <  should  he  come  accompanied 
by  a  larger  band  of  warriors  ?' 

" <  You  will  see  what  he  is  when  he  comes/  replied 
Ogger ;  *  but  as  to  what  will  become  of  us  I  know 
nothing.' 

"  As  they  were  thus  parleying,  appeared  the  body 
of  guards  that  knew  no  repose  ;  and  at  this  sight  the 
Lombard,  overcome  with  dread,  cried,  <  This  time  it  is 
surely  Charles.' 

" '  No,"  answered  Ogger,  l  not  yet.7 

"  In  their  wake  came  the  bishops,  the  abbots,  the 
ordinaries  of  the  chapels  royal,  and  the  counts ;  and 
then  Didier,  no  longer  able  to  bear  the  light  of  day 
or  to  face  death,  cried  out  with  groans,  '  Let  us  de 
scend  and  hide  ourselves  in  the  bowels  of  the  earth, 
far  from  the  face  and  the  fury  of  so  terrible  a  foe.' 

"Trembling  the  while,  Ogger,  who  knew  by  ex 
perience  what  were  the  power  and  might  of  Charles, 
and  who  had  learned  the  lesson  by  long  consuetude 
in  better  days,  then  said,  c  When  you  shall  behold 
the  crops  shaking  for  fear  in  the  fields,  and  the 
gloomy  Po  and  the  Ticino  overflowing  the  walls  of 
the  city  with  their  waves  blackened  with  steel,  then 
may  you  think  that  Charles  is  coming.' 
in.— e  6* 


66  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

"  He  had  not  ended  these  words  when  there  began 
to  be  seen  in  the  west,  as  it  were  a  black  cloud  raised 
by  the  northwest  wind  or  by  Boreas,  which  turned 
the  brightest  day  into  awful  shadows.  But  as  the 
emperor  drew  nearer  and  nearer,  the  gleam  of  arms 
caused  to  shine  on  the  people  shut  up  within  the  city 
a  day  more  gloomy  than  any  kind  of  night.  And 
then  appeared  Charles  himself,  that  man  of  steel, 
with  his  head  encased  in  a  helmet  of  steel,  his  hands 
garnished  with  gauntlets  of  steel,  his  heart  of  steel 
and  his  shoulders  of  marble  protected  by  a  cuirass 
of  steel,  and  his  left  hand  armed  with  a  lance  of 
steel  which  he  held  aloft  in  the  air,  for  as  to  his  right 
hand,  he  kept  that  continually  on  the  hilt  of  his  in 
vincible  sword.  The  outside  of  his  thighs,  which 
the  rest,  for  their  greater  ease  in  mounting  on  horse 
back,  were  wont  to  leave  unshackled  even  by  straps, 
he  wore  encircled  by  plates  of  steel.  What  shall  I 
say  concerning  his  boots  ?  All  the  army  were  wont 
to  have  them  invariably  of  steel;  on  his  buckler 
there  was  naught  to  be  seen  but  steel ;  his  horse  was 
of  the  color  and  the  strength  of  steel. 

"  All  those  who  went  before  the  monarch,  all  those 
who  marched  by  his  side,  all  those  who  followed  after, 
even  the  whole  mass  of  the  army,  had  armor  of  the 
like  sort,  so  far  as  the  means  of  each  permitted.  The 
fields  and  the  highways  were  covered  with  steel; 
the  points  of  steel  reflected  the  rays  of  the  sun  ;  and 
this  steel,  so  hard,  was  borne  by  people  with  hearts 
still  harder.  The  flash  of  steel  spread  terror  through 
out  the  streets  of  the  city.  '  What  steel !  alack,  what 
steel  P  Such  were  the  bewildered  cries  the  citizens 


THE    CROWNING   OF   CHARLEMAGNE.  67 

raised.  The  firmness  of  manhood  and  of  youth  gave 
way  at  sight  of  the  steel ;  and  the  steel  paralyzed 
the  wisdom  of  graybeards.  That  which  I,  poor 
tale-teller,  mumbling  and  toothless,  have  attempted 
to  depict  in  a  long  description,  Ogger  perceived  at 
one  rapid  glance,  and  said  to  Didier,  c  Here  is  what 
you  so  anxiously  sought ;'  and  whilst  uttering  these 
words  he  fell  down  almost  lifeless." 

If  our  sober  chronicler  of  the  ninth  century  could 
thus  let  his  imagination  wander  in  speaking  of  the 
great  king,  what  wonder  that  the  romancers  of  a 
later  age  took  Charlemagne  and  his  Paladins  as  fruit 
ful  subjects  for  their  wildly  fanciful  themes  1 


PETER  THE  HERMIT. 

IN  the  last  decade  of  the  eleventh  century  there 
might  have  been  seen,  wandering  through  every  part 
of  France  and  Germany,  a  man  of  singular  appear 
ance  Small  of  stature,  almost  dwarfish  in  size, 
emaciated  by  rigid  austerities,  angular  and  ungainly 
in  form,  clad  in  a  woollen  tunic  over  which  he  wore 
a  serge  cloak  that  came  down  to  his  heels,  his  head 
and  feet  bare,  and  mounted  on  an  ass  that  seemed  to 
have  practised  the  same  austerities  as  its  master,  this 
singular  person  rode  up  and  down  the  land,  rousing 
everywhere  as  he  went  the  wildest  enthusiasm. 
Miserable  as  he  seemed  in  body,  he  was  a  man  of 
active  and  earnest  mind,  of  quick  intellect,  keen  and 
penetrating  eye,  and  an  ease,  fluency,  and  force  of 
speech  that  gave  him  the  power  to  sway  multitudes 
and  stir  up  the  soul  of  Europe  as  no  man  before  him 
had  ever  done. 

This  man  was  Peter  the  Hermit,  the  father  of  the 
Crusades.  He  had  been  a  soldier  in  his  youth ; 
afterwards  a  married  man  and  father  of  a  family  ; 
later  a  monk  and  recluse ;  then  a  pilgrim  to  Jerusalem ; 
now  he  was  an  envoy  from  Simeon,  patriarch  of  Jeru 
salem,  to  arouse  the  nations  of  Europe  with  the  story 
of  the  cruelties  to  which  Christian  pilgrims  were 
subjected  by  the  barbarous  Turks. 
68 


PETER   THE    HERMIT.  69 

The  pope,  Urban  II.,  had  blessed  his  enterprise ; 
and  then,  dressed  and  mounted  as  described,  and 
bearing  in  his  arms  a  huge  cross,  the  inspired  envoy 
rode  throughout  the  Teutonic  lands,  everywhere  re 
counting  with  vehement  speech  and  with  the  force 
of  fiery  indignation  the  sufferings  of  the  Christians 
and  the  barbarities  of  the  Turks,  and  calling  on  all 
pious  souls  to  win  a  birthright  in  Heaven  by  taking 
arms  in  defence  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre  and  for  the 
emancipation  of  the  Holy  Land  from  infidel  control. 

"We  saw  him  at  that  time,"  says  Guibert  de 
Nogent,  his  contemporar}^,  "  scouring  city  and  town, 
and  preaching  everywhere.  The  people  crowded 
around  him,  heaped  presents  upon  him,  and  cele 
brated  his  sanctity  by  such  great  praises  that  I 
remember  not  that  like  honor  was  ever  rendered  to 
any  other  person.  In  all  that  he  did  or  said  he 
seemed  to  have  in  him  something  divine,  insomuch 
that  people  went  so  far  as  to  pluck  hairs  from  his 
mule  to  keep  as  relics." 

Never  had  mankind  been  more  excited.  All 
Europe  was  aroused,  indignant,  fiery.  The  Holy 
Sepulchre  must  be  rescued,  Palestine  must  be  in  the 
hands  of  the  Christians,  the  infidel  Turks  must  be 
driven  from  that  sacred  soil  and  punished  for  the 
indignities  they  had  heaped  upon  pilgrims,  Europe 
must  march  to  Asia,  and  win  salvation  by  driving 
the  pagan  barbarian  from  the  land  sanctified  by  the 
feet  of  Christ. 

Everywhere  men  rose,  seized  their  arms  and  pre 
pared  for  the  march,  of  whose  length  and  dangers 
few  of  them  dreamed.  "  The  most  distant  islands 


70  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

and  savage  countries,"  says  William  of  Malmesbury, 
"  were  inspired  by  this  ardent  passion.  The  Welsh 
man  left  his  hunting,  the  Scotchman  his  fellowship 
with  vermin,  the  Dane  his  drinking-party,  the  Nor 
wegian  his  raw  fish."  So  far  extended  the  story  of 
the  mission  of  Peter  the  Hermit;  while  in  France, 
Germany,  and  the  other  lands  in  which  he  made  his 
indignant  and  fiery  appeals,  the  whole  population 
seemed  ready  to  rise  and  march  en  masse  to  the  Holy 
Land. 

In  1095,  taking  advantage  of  this  enthusiasm, 
Urban  II.,  the  pope,  called  a  council  at  Clermont,  in 
Auvergne,  where  numbers  of  clergymen  and  multi 
tudes  of  people  assembled.  Here,  after  the  council, 
the  pope  mounted  a  platform  which  rose  in  the  midst 
of  a  great  open  space,  and  around  which  extended  a 
vast  throng  of  knights,  nobles,  and  common  people. 
Peter  the  Hermit  stood  by  the  pope's  side,  and  told 
the  story  of  the  miseries  and  humiliations  of  the 
Christians  in  Jerusalem  in  that  fiery  and  fiuent 
oratory  which  had  stirred  the  soul  of  all  Europe. 
Pope  Urban  followed  in  an  impassioned  address, 
recounting  the  sufferings  of  the  Christian  pilgrims, 
and  calling  upon  the  people  of  France  to  rise  for 
their  deliverance. 

"Men  of  France,"  he  said,  "men  from  beyond  the 
mountains,  nations  chosen  and  beloved  of  God,  right 
valiant  knights,  recall  the  virtues  of  your  ancestors, 
the  virtue  and  greatness  of  King  Charlemagne  and 
your  other  kings;  it  is  from  you  above  all  that 
Jerusalem  awaits  the  help  she  invokes,  for  to  you, 
above  all  nations,  God  has  vouchsafed  signal  glory 


PETER   THE   HERMIT.  71 

in  arms.  Take  ye,  then,  the  road  to  Jerusalem  for 
the  remission  of  your  sins,  and  depart  assured  of 
the  imperishable  glory  which  awaits  you  in  the  king 
dom  of  heaven." 

His  eloquent  words  roused  the  mass  to  madness. 
From  the  throng  rose  one  general  cry,  "  God  wills  it ! 
God  wills  it !"  Again  and  again  it  was  repeated,  as 
if  it  would  never  end,  while  swords  waving  in  the 
air,  banners  floating  on  high,  and  every  indication  of 
applause  and  approval,  attested  the  excitement  and 
enthusiasm  of  the  crowd. 

"  If  the  Lord  God  were  not  in  your  soul,  you  would 
not  all  have  uttered  the  same  words,"  cried  the  pope, 
when  he  could  make  himself  heard.  "  In  the  battle, 
then,  be  those  your  war-cry,  those  words  that  came 
from  God.  In  the  army  of  our  Lord  let  nought  be 
heard  but  that  one  shout,  £  God  wills  it !  God  wills 
it !'  Whosoever  hath  a  wish  to  enter  upon  this  pil 
grimage,  let  him  wear  upon  his  breast  or  his  brow  the 
cross  of  the  Lord,  and  let  him  who,  in  accomplish 
ment  of  his  desire,  shall  be  willing  to  march  away, 
place  the  cross  behind  him,  between  his  shoulders ; 
for  thus  he  will  fulfil  the  precept  of  the  Lord,  who 
said,  '  He  that  doth  not  take  up  his  cross  and  follow 
me,  is  not  worthy  of  me.' " 

These  words  aroused  a  new  enthusiasm.  The  de 
sire  to  assume  the  cross  spread  like  a  contagion 
through  the  crowd.  Adhemar,  bishop  of  Puy,  was 
the  first  to  receive  it  from  the  pope's  hands.  This 
emblem  was  of  red  cloth,  sewed  on  the  right  shoulder 
of  the  coat,  or  fastened  on  the  front  of  the  helmet. 
In  haste  the  crowd  sought  materials  to  make  it. 


72  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

The  passion  for  wearing  the  cross  spread  like  wild 
fire  through  Europe.  Peter  the  Hermit,  seconded 
by  the  pope,  had  given  birth  to  the  Crusades. 

The  first  outburst  of  enthusiasm  was,  as  always, 
the  strongest.  It  has  been  said  that  in  the  spring 
of  1096  six  million  souls  took  the  road  to  Palestine. 
This  is,  doubtless,  a  vast  exaggeration,  but  great 
numbers  set  out,  and  an  immense  multitude  of  igno 
rant  and  enthusiastic  people  pushed  tumultuously 
towards  the  Holy  Land,  in  advance  of  the  organized 
armies  of  the  First  Crusade. 

As  early  as  the  8th  of  March,  1096,  three  great 
mobs — they  cannot  fairly  be  called  armies — began 
their  journey  towards  Palestine.  They  were  not  only 
composed  of  armed  men ;  women  and  children  made 
up  part  of  them  ;  whole  families  abandoned  their  vil 
lages;  and  without  organization  or  provisions,  or  a 
knowledge  of  what  lay  before  them,  the  ignorant  and 
enthusiastic  mass  pushed  onward  with  unquestioning 
faith. 

The  first  of  these  disorderly  multitudes  was  headed 
by  Peter  the  Hermit, — a  blind  leader  of  a  blind  mob. 
Whenever  a  town  came  in  sight  on  their  way,  the 
children  eagerly  asked  if  that  were  Jerusalem.  The 
elders  were  little  better  informed.  Onward  they 
went,  through  Hungary,  through  Bulgaria,  through 
the  provinces  of  the  Greek  empire,  everywhere  com 
mitting  excesses,  everywhere  treated  as  enemies  by 
the  incensed  people,  until  the  line  of  march  was 
strewn  with  their  dead  bodies.  Peter  the  Hermit 
sought  to  check  their  excesses,  but  in  vain ;  and  when, 
at  length,  a  miserable  remnant  of  them  reached  Con* 


PETEE   THE   HERMIT.  73 

stantinople,  the  Emperor  Alexius  hastened  to  con-t 
vey  them  across  the  Bosphorus,  to  save  the  suburbs 
of  his  city  from  their  ravages. 

In  Asia  Minor  they  were  assailed  by  the  Turks, 
and  numbers  of  them  slain ;  and  when,  in  the  spring 
of  the  next  year,  Godfrey  de  Bouillon  and  the  other 
Crusader  chiefs  led  their  army  to  the  siege  of  Nicaea, 
the  first  important  Turkish  stronghold  on  their  line 
of  march,  they  saw  coming  to  meet  them  a  miserable 
band,  with  every  indication  of  woful  destitution,  at 
whose  head  appeared  Peter  the  Hermit.  It  was  the 
handful  of  destitute  wanderers  that  remained  from 
the  hundreds  of  thousands  who  had  set  out  with 
such  high  hopes  a  year  before. 

Thus  began  that  great  movement  from  Europe 
towards  Asia,  which  was  to  continue  for  several 
centuries,  and  end  at  length  in  disaster  and  defeat. 
But  we  are  concerned  here  only  with  Peter  the 
Hermit,  and  the  conclusion  of  his  career.  He  had 
set  the  flood  in  motion ;  how  far  was  he  to  be  borne 
on  its  waves  ? 

The  chiefs  of  the  army  welcomed  him  with  respect 
and  consideration,  and  heard  with  interest  and  feeling 
his  account  of  the  misfortunes  of  those  under  his 
leadership,  and  how  they  were  due  to  their  own 
ignorance,  violence,  and  insubordination.  With  the 
few  who  survived  from  the  multitude  he  joined  the 
crusading  army,  and  regained  the  ardent  hopes 
which  had  almost  vanished  from  his  heart. 

The  army  that  reached  Nicsea  is  said  to  have 
been  six  hundred  thousand  strong,  though  they 
were  probably  not  nearly  so  many.  Oi  they  went, 
D  7 


74  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

with  many  adventures,  meeting  the  Turks  in  battle, 
suffering  from  hunger  and  thirst,  enduring  calami 
ties,  losing  many  by  death,  until  at  length  the  great 
city  of  Antioch  was  reached  and  besieged. 

Here  at  first  food  was  plenty  and  life  easy.  But 
the  Turks  held  out,  winter  came,  provisions  grew 
scarce,  life  ceased  to  be  agreeable.  Such  was  the 
discouragement  that  succeeded  that  several  men  of 
note  deserted  the  army  of  the  cross,  among  them 
Eobert,  duke  of  Normandy,  William,  viscount  of 
Melun,  called  the  Carpenter,  from  his  mighty  battle- 
axe,  and  Peter  the  Hermit  himself,  "  who  had  never 
learned,"  we  are  told,  "  to  endure  such  plaguey  hun 
ger."  Their  flight  caused  the  greatest  indignation. 
Tancred,  one  of  the  leaders,  hurried  after  and  over 
took  them,  and  brought  them  back  to  the  camp, 
where  they,  overcome  by  shame,  swore  on  the  Gospel 
never  again  to  abandon  the  cause  of  the  cross. 

In  time  Antioch  was  taken,  and  the  Turks  therein 
massacred.  But,  unknown  to  the  Crusaders,  an  im 
mense  army  of  Turks  was  being  organized  in  Syria 
for  its  relief;  and  four  days  after  its  capture  the 
crusaders  found  themselves  in  their  turn  besieged, 
the  place  being  completely  enclosed. 

Day  by  day  the  blockade  became  more  strict. 
Suffering  from  want  of  food  began.  Starvation 
threatened  the  citizens  and  the  army  alike.  It 
seemed  as  if  the  crusade  might  end  there  and  then, 
in  the  death  or  captivity  of  all  concerned  in  it; 
when  an  incident,  esteemed  miraculous,  roused  the 
spLics  of  the  soldiers  and  achieved  their  deliver 
ance. 


PETER   THE   HERMIT.  75 

A  priest  of  Marseilles,  Peter  Bartholomew  by 
name,  presented  himself  before  the  chief  and  said 
that  he  had  had  a  marvellous  dream.  St.  Andrew 
had  thrice  appeared  to  him,  saying, "  Go  into  the 
church  of  my  brother  Peter  at  Antioch,  and  hard 
by  the  high  altar  thou  wilt  find,  on  digging  up  the 
ground,  the  head  of  the  spear  which  pierced  our 
Kedeemer's  side.  That,  carried  in  front  of  the  army, 
will  bring  about  the  deliverance  of  the  Christians." 

The  search  was  made,  the  spear-head — or,  at  least, 
a  spear-head — was  found,  hope,  confidence,  enthu 
siasm  were  restored,  and  with  loud  shouts  the  half- 
starved  multitude  demanded  that  they  should  be  led 
against  the  enemy.  But  before  doing  so,  the  chiefs 
decided  to  apprise  the  leader  of  the  Turks  of  their 
intention,  and  for  this  purpose  chose  Peter  the  Her 
mit  as  their  boldest  and  ablest  speaker. 

Peter,  therefore,  under  a  flag  of  truce,  sought  the 
Turkish  camp,  presented  himself  without  any  mark 
of  respect  before  Corbogha,  the  leader  of  the  Turks, 
and  his  captains,  and  boldly  told  them  the  decision 
of  the  crusading  chiefs. 

"  They  offer  thee,"  he  said,  "  the  choice  between 
divers  determinations :  either  that  thou  appear  alone 
in  person  to  fight  with  one  of  our  princes,  in  order 
that,  if  victorious,  thou  mayst  obtain  all  thou  canst 
demand,  or,  if  vanquished,  thou  mayst  remain  quiet ; 
or  again,  pick  out  divers  of  thine  who  shall  fight,  on 
the  same  terms,  with  the  same  number  of  ours ;  or, 
lastly,  agree  that  the  two  armies  shall  prove,  one 
against  the  other,  the  fortune  of  battle." 

Corbogha  received  this  challenge  as  an  amusing 


76  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

Jest,  saying  that  the  chiefs  must  be  in  a  desperate 
state  to  send  him  such  a  proposition.  "  Go,  and  tell 
these  fools,"  he  said,  "  that  all  whom  I  shall  find  in 
full  possession  of  all  the  powers  of  the  manly  age 
shall  have  their  lives,  and  shall  be  reserved  by  me 
for  my  master's  service,  and  that  all  others  shall  fall 
beneath  my  sword,  as  useless  trees,  so  that  there 
shall  remain  of  them  not  even  a  faint  remembrance. 
Had  I  not  deemed  it  more  convenient  to  destroy  them 
by  famine  than  to  smite  them  with  the  sword,  I 
should  already  have  gotten  forcible  mastery  of  the 
city,  and  they  would  have  reaped  the  fruits  of  their 
voyage  hither  by  undergoing  the  law  of  vengeance." 

Corbogha  spoke  much  too  hastily.  Eefore  night 
of  the  next  day  he  was  a  helpless  fugitive,  his  army 
destroyed  or  dispersed.  Peter  the  Hermit  returned 
with  his  message,  but,  by  the  advice  of  Godfrey  de 
Bouillon,  he  simply  announced  that  the  Turks  desired 
battle,  and  that  instant  preparation  for  it  must  be 
made.  On  the  next  day  the  whole  Christian  army, 
armed  and  enthusiastic,  issued  from  the  city,  a  part 
of  the  clergy  marching  at  their  head,  the  miraculous 
spear-head  borne  before  them,  and  attacked  the  Turks 
in  their  camp.  The  battle  was  long,  fierce,  and  stub 
born,  but  in  the  end  the  Turks  gave  way  before  the 
fury  of  Christian  enthusiasm,  and  fled  for  their  lives, 
vast  multitudes  of  them  being  slain  on  the  field,  while 
the  vain-glorious  Corbogha  rode  in  all  haste,  with  a 
weak  escort,  towards  far-off  Bagdad. 

The  camp  of  the  Turks  was  taken  and  pillaged. 
It  yielded  fifteen  thousand  camels  and  an  unnamed 
multitude  of  horses.  The  tent  of  Corbogha  proved 


PETER  THE   HERMIT.  77 

a  rich  prize.  It  was  laid  out  in  streets,  flanked  by 
towers,  in  imitation  of  a  fortified  town,  was  every 
where  enriched  with  gold  and  precious  stones,  and 
was  so  spacious  that  .t  would  have  contained  more 
than  two  thousand  persons.  It  was  sent  to  Italy, 
where  it  was  long  preserved.  So  great  was  the  spoil 
that,  says  Albert  of  Aix,  "  every  Crusader  found 
himself  richer  than  he  had  been  at  starting  from 
Europe." 

In  June,  1099,  the  Crusaders  arrived  before  Jerusa 
lem,  and  saw  with  eyes  of  wonder  and  delight  the 
vision  of  the  Holy  City  which  they  had  come  so  far 
to  gaze  upon.  After  a  month  of  siege  the  chiefs 
fixed  a  day  for  the  grand  assault,  and  on  the  day 
preceding  that  chosen  the  whole  army  marched,  fast- 
mg,  and  preceded  by  their  priests,  in  slow  procession 
round  the  walls,  halting  at  every  hallowed  spot, 
listening  to  the  hymns  and  exhortations  of  their 
priests,  and  looking  upward  with  wrathful  eyes  at 
the  insults  heaped  by  the  Islamites  upon  the  cross 
and  other  symbols  of  the  Christian  faith. 

"Ye  see/'  cried  Peter  the  Hermit,  "the  blas 
phemies  of  God's  enemies.  Now,  this  I  swear  to  you 
by  your  faith ;  this  I  swear  to  you  by  the  arms  you 
carry ;  to-day  these  infidels  are  still  full  of  pride  and 
insolence,  but  to-morrow  they  shall  be  frozen  with 
fear;  those  mosques,  which  tower  over  Christian  ruins, 
shall  serve  for  temples  to  the  true  God,  and  Jerusalem 
shall  hear  no  longer  aught  but  the  praises  of  the 
Lord." 

His  words  were  received  with  shouts  of  applause 
b^  f*he  whole  army.  His  had  been  the  first  voice  to 
7* 


78  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

call  Europe  to  the  deliverance  of  the  Holy  City ;  now, 
with  a  strong  army  to  back  him,  he  gazed  on  the 
walls  of  Jerusalem,  still  in  the  hands  of  the  infidels, 
likely  soon  to  be  in  the  hands  of  the  Christians. 
Well  might  he  feel  joy  and  self-gratification,  in 
thinking  that  all  this  was  his  work,  and  that  he  had 
been  the  apostle  of  the  greatest  event  in  modern 
history. 

On  the  next  day,  July  14,  1099,  the  assault  began 
at  daybreak.  On  Friday,  the  15th,  Jerusalem  fell 
into  the  hands  of  the  Crusaders,  and  the  mission  of 
Peter  the  Hermit  was  accomplished,  the  Holy  City 
was  won. 

With  that  great  day  ended  the  active  part  played 
by  Peter  the  Hermit  in  history.  He  was  received 
with  the  greatest  respect  by  the  Christian  dwellers 
in  Jerusalem,  who  exerted  themselves  to  render  him 
the  highest  honors,  and  attributed  to  him  alone,  after 
God,  their  deliverance  from  the  sufferings  which 
they  had  so  long  endured.  On  his  return  to  Europe 
he  founded  a  monastery  near  Hue,  in  the  diocese  of 
Liege,  where  he  spent  the  remainder  of  his  life  in 
retirement,  respected  and  honored  by  all,  and  died 
there  on  the  llth  of  July,  1115. 


THE  COMMUNE  OF  LA  ON. 

THE  history  of  the  kingdoms  of  Europe  has  a 
double  aspect,  that  of  the  arrogant  rule  of  kings  and 
nobles,  and  that  of  the  enforced  submission  and  oc 
casional  insurrection  of  the  common  people,  whom 
the  governing  class  despised  while  subsisting  on  the 
products  of  their  labor,  as  a  tree  draws  its  nutriment 
from  the  base  soil  above  which  it  proudly  rises.  In 
surrections  of  the  peasantry  took  place  at  times,  we 
have  said,  though,  as  a  rule,  nothing  was  gained  by 
them  but  blows  and  bloodshed.  We  have  described 
such  outbreaks  in  England.  France  had  its  share  of 
them,  all  of  which  were  speedily  and  cruelly  sup 
pressed.  It  was  not  by  armed  insurrection  that  the 
peasantry  gained  the  measure  of  liberty  they  now 
possess.  Their  gradual  emancipation  was  gained 
through  unceasing  protest  and  steady  pressure,  and 
in  no  sense  by  revolt  and  bloodshed. 

A  different  story  must  be  told  of  the  towns.  In 
these  the  commom  people  were  .concentrated  and 
well  organized,  and  possessed  skilled  leaders  and 
strong  walls.  They  understood  the  political  situa 
tion,  struck  for  a  definite  purpose,  and  usually  gained 
it.  The  history  of  nearly  every  town  in  France  tells 
of  some  such  demand  for  chartered  privileges,  ordi- 

79 


80  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

narily  ending  in  the  freeing  of  the  town  from  the 
tyranny  of  the  nobles.  Each  town  had  its  municipal 
government,  the  Commune.  It  was  this  body  which 
spoke  for  the  burghers,  which  led  in  the  struggle  for 
liberty,  and  which  succeeded  in  gaining  for  most  of 
the  towns  a  charter  of  rights  and  privileges.  Many 
stirring  incidents  might  be  told  of  this  fight  for 
freedom.  We  shall  confine  ourselves  to  the  story  of 
the  revolt  of  the  Commune  of  Laon,  of  which  a 
sprightly  contemporary  description  exists. 

At  the  end  of  the  eleventh  century  Laon  was  a 
bustling  and  important  city.  It  was  the  seat  of  a 
cathedral  and  under  the  government  of  a  bishop  ; 
was  wealthy  and  prosperous,  stirring  and  turbulent  ; 
was  the  gathering-place  of  the  surrounding  people, 
the  centre  of  frequent  disturbances.  Thierry  draws 
a  vivid  picture  of  the  state  of  affairs  existing  within 
its  walls.  "  The  nobles  and  their  servitors,"  he  says, 
"  sword  in  hand,  committed  robbery  upon  the  burgh 
ers  ;  the  streets  of  the  town  were  not  safe  by  night 
nor  even  by  day,  and  none  could  go  out  without  run 
ning  a  risk  of  being  stopped  and  robbed  or  killed. 
The  burghers  in  their  turn  committed  violence  upon 
the  peasants,  who  came  to  buy  or  sell  at  the  market 
of  the  town." 

Truly,  town  life  and  country  life  alike  were  neither 
safe  nor  agreeable  in  those  charming  mediaeval  days 
when  ^*JYfl]jy  wan  thft  profession  of  all  and  the  pos 
session  of^  none,  when  the  nobility  were  courteous  in 

wnrfl  fl.n  rTvi  r>  I  ft  n  1  1  rTTTftftr^  im  H  ^jiAin  m  i  nrh  f  everywhere 

and  conscience  was  but  another 


word  for  desireT    As  for  the  treatment  of  the  peas- 


THE   COMMUNE   OP   LAON.  81 

antry  by  the  townsmen,  we  may  quote  from  Guibert, 
an  abbot  of  Nogent-sous-Coucy,  to  whose  lively  pen 
we  owe  all  we  have  to  tell  about  Laon. 

"  Let  me  give  as  example,"  he  says,  "  a  single  fact, 
which  had  it  taken  place  among  the  Barbarians  or  the 
Scythians  would  assuredly  have  been  considered  the 
height  of  wickedness,  in  the  judgment  even  of  those 
who  know  no  law.  On  Saturday  the  inhabitants  of 
the  country  places  used  to  leave  their  fields  and  come 
from  all  sides  to  Laon  to  get  provisions  at  the  mar 
ket.  The  townsfolk  used  then  to  go  round  the  place 
carrying  in  baskets  or  bowls  or  otherwise  samples 
of  vegetables  or  grain  or  any  other  article,  as  if  they 
wished  to  sell.  They  would  offer  them  to  the  first 
peasant  who  was  in  search  of  such  things  to  buy ; 
he  would  promise  to  pay  the  price  agreed  upon  ;  and 
then  the  seller  would  say  to  the  buyer,  <  Come  with 
me  to  my  house  to  see  and  examine  the  whole  of  the 
articles  I  am  selling  you.'  The  other  would  go ;  and 
then,  when  they  came  to  the  bin  containing  the 
goods,  the  honest  seller  would  take  off  and  hold  up 
the  lid,  saying  to  the  buyer, '  Step  hither  and  put  your 
head  or  arms  into  the  bin  to  make  quite  sure  that  it 
is  all  exactly  the  same  goods  as  I  showed  you  out 
side.'  And  then  when  the  other,  jumping  on  to  the 
edge  of  the  bin,  remained  leaning  on  his  belly,  with 
his  head  and  shoulders  hanging  down,  the  worthy 
seller,  who  kept  in  the  rear,  would  hoist  up  the 
thoughtless  rustic  by  the  feet,  push  him  suddenly 
into  the  bin,  and,  clapping  on  the  lid  as  he  fell,  keep 
him  shut  up  in  this  safe  prison  until  he  had  bought 
himself  out." 
m.-/ 


82  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

This  has  more  the  aspect  of  a  practical  joke  than 
an  act  of  barbarism.  But  withal,  between  the  cheat 
ing  of  the  peasantry  by  the  burghers,  the  robbery  of 
the  burghers  by  the  nobles,  and  the  general  turmoil 
and  terror,  there  might  have  been  found  more  de 
lightful  places  of  residence  than  the  good  city  of 
Laon  in  the  eleventh  century.  The  story  of  this  city 
is  a  long  one.  We  are  here  concerned  with  but  one 
episode  in  the  tale. 

In  the  year  1106  the  bishopric  of  Laon,  which  had 
been  for  two  years  vacant,  was  bought  by  Gaudri,  a 
Norman  by  birth,  and  a  man  of  no  very  savory  repu 
tation.  He  was  a  clergyman  with  the  habits  of  a 
soldier,  hasty  and  arrogant  in  disposition,  hurrying 
through  the  service  of  the  mass,  and  dallying  with 
delight  over  narratives  of  fighting  and  hunting,  one 
of  the  churchmen  of  wickedly  worldly  tastes  of 
which  those  days  presented  so  many  examples. 

Laon  soon  learned  something  of  the  character  of 
its  new  bishop.  Not  long  was  he  in  office  before 
outrages  began.  He  seized  one  man  whom  he  sus 
pected  of  aiding  his  enemies,  and  put  out  his  eyes. 
Another  was  murdered  in  the  church  itself,  with  his 
connivance.  In  his  deeds  of  violence  or  vengeance 
he  employed  a  black  slave,  imitating  in  this  some  of 
the  Crusaders,  who  brought  with  them  such  servants 
from  the  east.  No  lawless  noble  could  have  shown 
more  disregard  of  law  or  justice  than  this  dignitary 
of  the  church,  and  the  burghers  of  Laon  viewed 
with  growing  indignation  his  lawless  and  merciless 
course. 

Taking  advantage  of  the  absence  of  Bishop  Gaudri 


THE   COMMUNE   OF   LAON.  83 

in  England,  the  burghers  bribed  the  clergy  and 
knights  who  governed  in  his  stead,  and  obtained 
from  them  the  privilege  of  choosing  their  own 
rulers.  "The  clergy  and  knights,"  we  are  told, 
"  came  to  an  agreement  with  the  common  folk  in 
hopes  of  enriching  themselves  in  a  speedy  and  easy 
fashion."  A  commune  was  set  up,  and  given  the 
necessary  powers  and  immunities. 

Gaudri  returned,  and  heard  with  fierce  wrath  of 
what  had  been  done  in  his  absence.  For  several 
days  he  stayed  outside  the  walls,  clouding  and  thun 
dering.  Then  the  burghers  applied  the  same  plaster 
to  his  wrath  as  they  had  done  to  the  virtue  of  his 
representatives.  They  offered  him  money,  "  enough 
to  appease  the  tempest  of  his  words."  He  accepted 
the  bribe  and  swore  to  respect  the  commune.  This 
done,  he  entered  the  city  in  state. 

The  burghers  knew  him  somewhat  too  well  to 
trust  him.  There  were  higher  powers  in  France 
than  Bishop  Gaudri,  which  were  known  to  be  sus 
ceptible  to  the  same  mercenary  argument.  A  depu 
tation  was  therefore  sent  to  King  Louis  the  Fat  at 
Paris,  laden  with  rich  presents,  and  praying  for  a 
royal  confirmation  of  the  commune.  The  king  loved 
the  glitter  of  cash ;  he  accepted  the  presents,  swore 
that  the  commune  should  be  respected,  and  gave 
Laon  a  charter  sealed  with  the  great  seal  of  the 
crown.  All  that  the  citizens  were  to  do  in  return, 
beyond  meeting  the  customary  crown  claims,  was  to 
give  the  king  three  lodgings  a  year,  if  he  came  to 
the  town,  or  in  lieu  thereof,  if  he  failed  to  come, 
twenty  livres  for  each  lodging. 


84  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

For  three  years  all  went  well  in  Laon.  The  bur 
ghers  were  happy  in  their  security  and  proud  of 
their  liberty,  wnile  clergy  and  knights  were  occu 
pied  in  spending  the  money  they  had  received.  The 
year  1112  came.  The  bishop  and  his  subordinates 
had  got  rid  of  their  money,  and  craved  again  the 
power  they  had  sold.  They  began  to  consider 
how  the  citizens  might  once  more  be  made  serfs. 
They  would  not  have  hesitated  long  but  for  that 
inconvenient  grant  of  Louis  the  Fat.  But  King 
Louis  might  be  managed.  He  was  normally  avari 
cious.  The  bishop  invited  him  to  Laon  to  take  part 
in  the  keeping  of  Holy  Week,  trusting  to  get  his 
aid  to  overthrow  the  commune. 

The  king  came.  The  burghers  were  not  long  in 
suspecting  the  cause  of  his  coming.  They  offered 
him  some  four  hundred  livres  to  confirm  them  in 
their  liberties.  The  bishop  and  his  party  offered 
him  seven  hundred  livres  to  restore  their  power. 
The  higher  offer  prevailed.  The  charter  was  an 
nulled,  and  the  magistrates  of  the  commune  were 
ordered  to  cease  from  their  functions,  to  give  up  the 
seal  and  the  banner  of  the  town,  and  no  more  to 
ring  the  belfry-chimes  which  indicated  the  beginning 
and  the  ending  of  their  sessions. 

Wrath  and  uproar  succeeded  this  decree.  The 
burghers  had  tasted  the  sweets  of  liberty,  and  were 
not  ready  to  lose  their  dearly-bought  independence. 
So  violent  were  they  that  the  king  himself  was 
frightened,  and  hastily  left  his  hotel  for  the  stronger 
walls  of  the  episcopal  palace.  At  dawn  of  the  next 
day,  partly  in  fear  and  perhaps  partly  in  shame,  he 


THE   COMMUNE   OF   LAON.  85 

departed  from  Laon  with  all  his  train,  leaving  the 
Easter  festival  to  take  place  without  him. 

It  was  destined  to  be  a  serious  festival  for  Bishop 
Gaudri  and  his  crew  of  base-souled  followers.  The 
king  had  left  a  harvest  of  indignation  behind  him. 
On  the  day  after  his  going  all  shops  and  taverns 
were  kept  closed  and  nothing  was  sold ;  every  one 
remained  at  home,  nursing  his  wrath.  The  next  day 
the  anger  of  the  citizens  grew  more  demonstrative. 
A  rumor  spread  that  the  bishop  and  grandees  were 
busy  calculating  the  fortunes  of  the  citizens,  that 
they  might  force  from  them  the  sum  promised  the 
king.  The  burghers  assembled  in  burning  indigna 
tion,  and  forty  of  them  bound  themselves  by  oath 
to  kill  the  bishop  and  all  those  who  had  aided  him 
to  destroy  the  commune. 

Some  rumor  of  this  got  afloat.  Anselm,  the  arch 
deacon,  warned  the  bishop  that  his  life  was  in  danger, 
and  urged  him  not  to  leave  his  house,  and,  in  particu 
lar,  not  to  accompany  the  procession  on  Easter-day. 
Thus  Caesar  had  been  warned,  and  had  contemned 
the  warning.  Gaudri  emulated  him,  and  answered, 
with  a  sneer  of  contempt, — 

"  Pooh  !     I  die  by  the  hands  of  such  fellows !" 

Easter-day  came.  The  bishop  did  not  appear  at 
matins,  or  at  the  later  church  service.  But,  lest  he 
should  be  called  coward,  he  joined  the  procession,  fol 
lowed  by  his  clergy  and  domestics,  and  by  a  number 
of  knights  with  arms  and  armor  concealed  under 
their  clothes.  Slowly  through  the  streets  moved  the 
procession,  the  people  looking  on  in  lowering  silence. 
As  it  passed  a  dark  arch  one  of  the  forty  rushed 

8 


86  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

suddenly  out,  crying,  "  Commune !  commune !"  No 
one  joined  him ;  the  crowd  seemed  intimidated ;  their 
feelings  subsided  in  a  murmur ;  the  procession  con 
tinued  on  its  way  undisturbed. 

The  next  day  another  procession  took  place.  This 
day  the  bishop  had  filled  the  town  with  peasants, 
who  were  charged  to  protect  his  church,  his  palace, 
and  himself.  The  people  kept  quiet.  All  went  well. 
Bishop  Gaudri,  satisfied  that  the  talk  of  danger  was 
all  a  myth,  now  dismissed  the  peasants,  feeling  quite 
secure. 

"  On  the  fourth  day  after  Easter,"  says  Guibert 
of  Nogent,  "  my  corn  having  been  pillaged  in  con 
sequence  of  the  disorder  that  reigned  in  the  town,  I 
repaired  to  the  bishop,  and  prayed  him  to  put  a  stop 
to  this  state  of  violence. 

"  '  What  do  you  suppose,7  said  he  to  me,  '  these 
fellows  can  do  with  all  their  outbreaks  ?  Why,  if 
my  blackamoor,  John,  were  to  pull  the  nose  of  the 
most  formidable  amongst  them,  the  poor  devil  durst 
not  even  grumble.  Have  I  not  forced  them  to  give 
up  what  they  called  their  commune,  for  the  whole 
duration  of  my  life  ?' 

"  I  held  my  tongue,"  adds  Guibert;  "  many  folks  be 
sides  me  warned  him  of  his  danger,  but  he  would  not 
deign  to  believe  anybody." 

For  three  days  all  kept  quiet.  The  bishop  and  his 
myrmidons  busied  themselves  in  calculating  how 
much  cash  they  could  squeeze  from  the  people.  The 
people  lowered  like  a  gathering  storm.  All  at  once 
the  storm  broke.  A  sudden  tumult  arose;  crowds 
filled  the  streets.  "  Coir  mune !  commune !"  was  the 


THE    COMMUNE   OF   LAON.  87 

general  cry;  as  if  by  magic,  swords,  lances,  axes, 
bows,  and  clubs  appeared  in  the  hands  of  the  people  ; 
with  wild  shouts  of  vengeance  they  rushed  through 
the  streets  and  burst  into  the  bishop's  palace.  The 
knights  who  had  promised  to  protect  him  hastened 
thither  and  faced  the  infuriated  populace.  The  first 
three  who  appeared  were  hotly  attacked  and  fell  be 
fore  the  axes  of  the  burghers.  The  others  held  back. 
In  a  few  minutes  more  flames  appeared  in  the  palace, 
and  in  no  long  time  it  was  a  mass  of  seething  fire. 
The  day  of  vengeance  had  come. 

The  bishop  had  fled  to  the  church.  Here,  having 
no  means  of  defence,  he  hastily  put  on  the  dress  of 
one  of  his  servants  and  repaired  to  the  church  cellar, 
where  were  a  number  of  empty  casks.  One  of  these 
he  got  into,  a  faithful,  follower  then  heading  him  in, 
and  even  stopping  up  the  bung-hole.  Meanwhile,  the 
crowd  were  in  eager  quest  for  the  object  of  their 
wrath.  The  palace  had  been  searched  before  being 
set  on  fire ;  the  church  and  all  accompanying  build 
ings  now  swarmed  with  revengeful  burghers.  Among 
these  was  a  bandit  named  Teutgaud,  a  fellow  noto 
rious  for  his  robberies  and  murders  of  travellers,  but 
now  hand  and  glove  with  the  commune.  The  bishop 
had  named  him  Isengrin,  the  by-word  then  for  wolf. 

This  worthy  made  his  way  into  the  cellar,  followed 
by  an  armed  crowd.  Through  this  they  went,  tap 
ping  the  casks  as  they  proceeded.  Teutgaud  halted 
in  front  of  that  in  which  the  bishop  was  concealed — 
on  what  suspicion  does  not  appear. 

"  Knock  in  the  head  of  this,"  he  ordered. 

He  was  quickly  obeyed. 


88  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

"  Is  there  any  one  here  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Only  a  poor  prisoner,"  came  a  quavering  voice 
from  the  depths  of  the  cask. 

"  Ha!  ha!"  laughed  Teutgaud ;  "  so  it  is  you,  Master 
Isengrin,  who  are  hiding  here !" 

Seizing  the  trembling  bishop  by  the  hair,  he 
dragged  him  without  ceremony  from  the  cask.  The 
frightened  culprit  fell  on  his  knees  and  begged 
piteously  for  his  life.  He  would  do  anything;  he 
would  give  up  the  bishopric,  yield  them  all  the  money 
he  had,  and  leave  the  country. 

Insults  and  blows  were  the  only  replies.  In  a 
minute  more  the  unfortunate  man  was  dead.  Teut 
gaud,  true  to  his  profession,  cut  off  his  finger  to  obtain 
the  episcopal  ring  that  glittered  on  it.  Stripped  of 
its  clothing,  the  body  was  hurled  into  a  corner,  and 
the  furious  throng  flung  stones  and  mud  at  it,  as  the 
only  vent  remaining  to  their  revengeful  passions. 

All  that  day  and  the  night  that  followed  the  armed 
and  maddened  townsmen  searched  the  streets  and 
houses  of  Laon  for  the  supporters  of  the  murdered 
bishop,  and  numbers  of  them  shared  his  fate.  Not 
the  guilty  alone,  but  many  of  the  innocent,  perished 
before  the  blind  wrath  of  the  multitude.  "The 
progress  of  the  fire,"  says  Guibert,  "  kindled  on  two 
sides  at  once,  was  so  rapid,  and  the  winds  drove  the 
flames  so  furiously  in  the  direction  of  the  convent  of 
St.  Yin  cent,  that  the  monks  were  afraid  of  seeing 
all  they  possessed  become  the  fire's  prey,  and  all  the 
persons  who  had  taken  refuge  in  this  monastery 
trembled  as  if  they  had  seen  swords  hanging  ovei 
their  heads." 


THE   COMMUNE   OF   LAON.  89 

It  was  a  day  and  night  of  frightful  excess,  one  of 
those  dread  occasions  whi<;h  arise  when  men  are 
roused  to  violence  by  injustice,  and  for  the  time 
break  all  the  bonds  of  mercy  and  moderation  which 
ordinarily  control  them.  Eegret  at  their  insensate 
rage  is  sure  to  succeed  all  such  outbreaks.  Eetri- 
bution  is  likely  to  follow.  Consternation  came  to 
the  burghers  of  Laon  when  calm  thought  returned 
to  them.  They  had  defied  the  king.  What  would 
he  do?  To  protect  themselves  they  added  to  the 
burden  of  their  offences,  summoning  to  their  aid 
Thomas  de  Marie,  the  son  of  Lord  Enguerraud  de 
Goucy,  a  man  who  was  little  better  than  a  brigand, 
and  with  a  detestable  reputation  for  cruelty  and 
ferocity. 

De  Marie  was  not  quite  ready  to  undertake  this 
task.  He  consulted  his  people,  who  declared  that  it 
would  be  folly  for  their  small  force  to  seek  to  defend 
such  a  city  against  the  king.  He  thereupon  induced 
the  burghers  to  meet  him  in  a  field,  about  a  mile  from 
the  city,  where  he  would  make  answer  to  their  re 
quest.  When  they  had  come,  he  said, — 

"  Laon  is  the  head  of  the  kingdom  ;  it  is  impossible 
for  me  to  keep  the  king  from  making  himself  master 
of  it.  If  you  fear  his  arms,  follow  me  to  my  own 
land,  and  you  will  find  in  me  a  protector  and  a 
friend.'1 

Their  consternation  was  extreme  at  this  advice. 
For  the  time  being  they  were  in  a  panic,  through 
fear  of  the  king's  vengeance,  and  the  conference 
ended  in  many  of  them  taking  the  advice  of  the  Lord 
of  Marie,  and  flying  with  him  to  his  stronghold. 


90  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

Teutgaud  was  among  the  number  that  accepted  his 
protection. 

The  news  of  their  flight  quickly  spread  to  the 
country  places  around  Laon.  The  story  went  that 
the  town  was  quite  deserted.  The  peasants,  filled 
with  hopes  of  plunder,  hastened  to  the  town,  took 
possession  of  what  empty  houses  they  found,  and 
carried  off  what  money  and  other  valuables  they 
could  discover.  " Before  long,"  says  Guibert,  "there 
arose  between  the  first  and  last  comers  disputes  about 
the  partition  of  their  plunder;  all  that  the  small 
folks  had  taken  soon  passed  into  ihe  nands  of  the 
powerful ;  if  two  men  met  a  third  quite  alone  they 
stripped  him ;  the  state  of  the  town  was  truly  piti 
able.  The  burghers  who  had  quitted  it  with  Thomas 
de  Marie  had  beforehand  destroyed  and  burnt  the 
houses  of  the  clergy  and  grandees  whom  they  hated ; 
and  now  the  grandees,  escaped  from  the  massacre, 
carried  off  in  their  turn  from  the  houses  of  the  fugi 
tives  all  means  of  subsistence  and  all  movables  to  the 
very  hinges  and  bolts." 

What  succeeded  must  be  briefly  told.  The  story 
of  the  events  here  described  spread  through  the 
kingdom.  Thomas  de  Marie  was  put  under  ban  by 
the  king  and  excommunicated  by  the  church.  Louis 
raised  an  army  and  marched  against  him.  De  Marie 
was  helpless  with  illness,  but  truculent  in  temper, 
He  defied  the  king,  and  would  not  listen  to  his  sum 
mons.  Louis  attacked  his  castles,  took  two  of  them, 
Crecy  and  Nogent,  and  in  the  end  forced  him  to  buy 
pardon  by  a  heavy  ransom  and  an  indemnity  to  the 
church.  As  for  the  burghers  who  had  taken  refuge 


THE   COMMUNE   OF   LAON.  91 

with  him,  the  king  showed  them  no  mercy.  They 
had  had  a  hand  in  the  murder  of  Bishop  Gaudri,  and 
all  of  them  were  hung. 

The  remaining  story  of  Laon  is  too  long  for  our 
space.  The  burghers  continued  to  demand  their 
liberties,  and  in  1128  a  new  charter  was  granted  them. 
This  they  retained,  except  during  some  intervals, 
until  that  later  period  when  the  mediaeval  system  of 
municipal  government  came  to  an  end,  and  all  the 
cities  and  towns  fell  under  the  direct  control  of  the 
deputies  of  the  king. 


HOW  BIG  FERRE  FOUGHT  FOR 
FRANCE. 

IT  was  in  the  heart  of  the  Hundred  Years'  War. 
Everywhere  France  lay  desolate  under  the  feet  of 
the  English  invaders.  Never  had  land  been  more 
torn  and  rent,  and  never  with  less  right  and  justice. 
Like  a  flock  of  vultures  the  English  descended  upon 
the  fair  realm  of  France,  ravaging  as  they  went, 
leaving  ruin  behind  their  footsteps,  marching  hither 
and  thither  at  will,  now  victorious,  now  beaten,  yet 
ever  plundering,  ever  desolating.  Wherever  they 
came  the  rich  were  ruined,  the  poor  were  starved, 
want  and  misery  stared  each  other  in  the  face,  happy 
homes  became  gaping  ruins,  fertile  fields  became 
sterile  wastes.  It  was  a  pandemonium  of  war,  a 
frightful  orgy  of  military  license,  a  scene  to  make 
the  angels  weep  and  demons  rejoice  over  the  cruelty 
of  man. 

In  the  history  of  this  dreadful  business  we  find 
little  to  show  what  part  the  peasantry  took  in  the 
affair,  beyond  that  of  mere  suffenTTg!  The  man-at- 
arms  lorded  it  in  France  ;  the  peasant  endured. 

Yet  occasionally  this  down-trodden  sufferer  toot 
arms  against  his  oppressors,  and  contemporary 
92 


HOW   BLG   FERRIS   FOUGHT   FOR   FRANCE.  93 

chronicles  give  us  some  interesting  insight  into  brave 
deeds  done  by  the  tiller  of  the  soil.  One  of  these 
we  propose  to  tell, — a  stirring  and  romantic  one.  It 
Is  half  legendary,  perhaps,  yet  there  is  reason  to  be 
lieve  that  it  is  in  the  main  true,  and  it  paints  a  vivid 
picture  of  those  days  of  blood  and  violence  which  is 
well  worthy  of  reproduction. 

In  1358  the  king  of  Navarre,  who  had  aided  the 
English  in  their  raids,  suddenly  made  peace  with 
France.  This  displeased  his  English  allies,  who  none 
the  less,  however,  continued  their  destructive  raids, 
small  parties  marching  hither  and  thither,  now  vic 
torious,  now  vanquished,  an  interminable  series  of 
minor  encounters  taking  the  place  of  large  operations. 
Eoth  armies  were  reduced  to  guerilla  bands,  who 
fought  as  they  met,  and  lived  meanwhile  on  the  land 
and  its  inhabitants.  The  battle  of  Poitiers  had  been 
recently  fought,  the  king  of  France  was  a  prisoner, 
there  was  no  organization,  no  central  power,  in  the 
realm,  and  wherever  possible  the  population  took 
arms  and  fought  in  their  own  defence,  seeking  some 
little  relief  from  the  evils  of  anarchy. 

The  scene  of  the  story  we  propose  to  tell  is  a  small 
stronghold  called  Longueil,  not  far  from  Compiegne 
and  near  the  banks  of  the  Oise.  It  was  pretty  well 
fortified,  and  likely  to  prove  a  point  of  danger  to  the 
district  if  the  enemy  should  seize  it  and  make  It  a 
centre  of  their  plundering  raids.  There  were  no 
soldiers  to  guard  it,  and  the  peasants  of  "tEe^ vicinity, 
Jacques  Bonhomme  (Jack  Goodfellow),  as  they  were 
called,  undertook  itj^^efence.  This  was  no  un- 
authorized~~action.  The  lord-regent  of  France  and 


94  HISTORICAL   TALES, 

the  abbot  of  the  monastery  of  St.  Corneille-de- 
Compiegne,  near  by,  gave  them  permission,  glad, 
d  oubtless, J.Q Jiave  ^^  in  the  absence 

of  trained  soldiery. 

"In  consequence,  a  number  of  the  neighboring 
tillers  of  the  soil  garrisoned  the  place,  providing 
themselves  with  arms  and  provisions,  and  promising 
the  regent  to  defend  the  town  until  death.  Hither 
came  many  of  the  villagers  for  security,  continuing 
the  labors  which  yielded  them  a  poor  livelihood,  but 
making  Longueil  their  stronghold  of  defence.  In  all 
there  were  some  two  hundred  of  them,  their  chosen 
captain  being  a  tall,  finely- formed  man,  named  Wil 
liam  a-Larks  (aux  Alouettes).  For  servant,  this  cap 
tain  had  a  gigantic  peasant,  a  fellow  of  great  stature, 
marvellous  strength,  and  undaunted  boldness,  and 
withal  of  extreme  modesty.  He  bore  the  name  of 
Big  Ferre. 

This  action  of  the  peasants  called  the  attention  of 
the  English  to  the  place,  and  roused  in  them  a  desire 
to  possess  it.  Jacques  Bonhomme  was  held  by  them 
in  utter  contempt,  and  the  peasant  garrison  simply 
brought  to  their  notice  the  advantage  of  the  place 
as  a  well-fortified  centre  of  operations.  That  these 
poor  dirt  delvers  could  hold  their  own  against 
trained  warriors  seemed  a  matter  not  worth  a  second 
thought. 

"  Let  us  drive  the  base-born  rogues  from  the  town 
and  take  possession  of  it,"  said  they.  "  It  will  be  a 
trifle  to  do  it,  and  the  place  will  serve  us  well." 

Such  seemed  the  case.  The  peasants,  unused  to 
war  and  lacking  all  military  training,  streamed  in 


HOW  BIG  FERR£  FOUGHT  FOR  FRANCE.          95 

and  out  at  pleasure,  leaving  the  gates  wide  open,  and 
taking  no  precautions  against  the  enemy.  Suddenly, 
to  their  surprise  and  alarm,  they  saw  a  strong  body 
of  armed  men  entering  the  open  gates  and  marching 
boldly  into  the  court-yard  of  the  stronghold,  the 
heedless  garrison  gazing  with  gaping  eyes  at  them 
from  the  windows  and  the  inner  courts.  It  was  a 
body  of  English  men-at-arms,  two  hundred  strong, 
who  had  taken  the  unguarded  fortress  by  surprise. 

Down  came  the  captain,  William  a-Larks,  to  whose 
negligence  this  surprise  was  due,  and  made  a  bold 
and  fierce  assault  on  the  invaders,  supported  by  a 
body  of  his  men.  But  the  English  forced  their  way 
inward,  pushed  back  the  defenders,  surrounded  the 
raptain,  and  quickly  struck  him  to  the  earth  with  a 
mortal  wound.  Defence  seemed  hopeless.  The 
assailants  had  gained  the  gates  and  the  outer  court, 
dispersed  the  first  party  of  defenders,  killed  their 
captain,  and  were  pushing  their  way  with  shouts  of 
triumph  into  the  stronghold  within.  The  main  body 
of  the  peasants  were  in  the  inner  court,  Big  Ferre  at 
their  head,  but  it  was  beyond  reason  to  suppose  that 
they  co aid  stand  against  this  compact  and  well- 
armed  body  of  invaders. 

Yet  they  had  promised  the  regent  to  hold  the 
place  until  death,  and  they  meant  it. 

"  It  is  death  fighting  or  death  yielding,"  they  said. 
"  These  men  will  slay  us  without  mercy ;  let  us  sell 
them  our  lives  at  a  dear  price." 

"  Gathering  themselves  discreetly  together,"  says 
the  chronicler,  "  they  went  down  by  different  gates, 
and  struck  out  with  mighty  blows  at  the  English,  as 


96  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

if  they  had  been  beating  out  their  corn  on  the  thresh 
ing-floor  ;  their  arms  went  up  and  down  again,  and 
every  blow  dealt  out  a  mighty  wound." 

Eig  Ferre  led  a  party  of  the  defenders  against  the 
main  body  of  the  English,  pushing  his  way  into  the 
outer  court  where  the  captain  had  fallen.  When  he 
saw  his  master  stretched  bleeding  and  dying  on  the 
ground,  the  faithful  fellow  gave  vent  to  a  bitter  cry, 
and  rushed  with  the  rage  of  a  lion  upon  the  foe, 
wielding  a  great  axe  like  a  feather  in  his  hands. 

The  English  looked  with  surprise  and  alarm  on 
thip  huge  fellow,  who  topped  them  all  in  height  by  a 
head!  and  shoulders,  and  who  came  forward  like  a 
maddened  bull,  uttering  short,  hoarse  cries  of  rage, 
while  the  heavy  axe  quivered  in  his  vigorous  grasp. 
In  a  moment  he  was  upon  them,  striking  such  quick 
and  deadly  blows  that  the  place  before  him  was  soon 
void  of  living  men.  Of  one  man  the.  head  was 
crushed;  of  another  the  arm  was  lopped  off;  a  third 
was  hurled  back  with  a  gaping  wound.  His  com 
rades,  seeing  the  havoc  he  was  making,  were  filled 
with  ardor,  and  seconded  him  well,  pressing  on  the 
dismayed  English  and  forcing  them  bodily  back.  In 
an  hour,  says  the  chronicler,  the  vigorous  fellow  had 
slain  with  his  own  hand  eighteen  of  the  foe,  without 
counting  the  wounded. 

This  was  more  than  flesh  and  blood  could  bear. 
The  English  turned  to  fly;  some  leaped  in  terror 
into  the  ditches,  others  sought  to  regain  the  gates; 
after  them  rushed  Big  Ferre,  still  full  of  the  rage  of 
battle.  Beaching  the  point  where  the  English  had 
planted  their  flag,  he  killed  the  bearer,  seized  the 


HOW  BIG  FERR£  FOUGHT  FOR  FRANCE.          97 

standard,  and  bade  one  of  Ms  followers  to  go  and 
fling  it  into  the  ditch,  at  a  point  where  the  wall  was 
not  yet  finished. 

"I  cannot,"  said  the  man;  "there  are  still  too 
many  English  there." 

"  Follow  me  with  the  flag,"  said  Big  Ferre. 

Like  a  woodman  making  a  lane  through  a  thicket, 
the  burly  champion  cleared  an  avenue  through  the 
ranks  of  the  foe,  and  enabled  his  follower  to  hurl  the 
flag  into  the  ditch.  Then,  turning  back,  he  made 
such  havoc  among  the  English  who  still  remained 
within  the  wall,  that  all  who  were  able  fled  in  ter 
ror  from  his  deadly  axe.  In  a  short  time  the  place 
was  cleared  and  the  gates  closed,  the  English — such 
of  them  as  were  left — making  their  way  with  all 
haste  from  that  fatal  place.  Of  those  who  had  come, 
the  greater  part  never  went  back.  It  is  said  that 
the  axe  of  Eig  Ferre  alone  laid  more  than  forty  of 
them  low  in  death.  In  this  number  the  chronicler 
may  have  exaggerated,  but  the  story  as  a  whole  is 
probably  true. 

The  sequel  to  this  exploit  of  the  giant  champion  is 
no  less  interesting.  The  huge  fellow  whom  steel 
could  not  kill  was  slain  by  water, — not  by  drowning, 
however,  but  by  drinking.  And  this  is  how  it  came 
to  pass. 

The  story  of  the  doings  at  Longueil  filled  the  Eng 
lish  with  shame  and  anger.  When  the  bleeding  and 
exhausted  fugitives  came  back  and  reported  the  fate 
of  their  fellows,  indignation  and  desire  for  revenge 
animated  all  the  English  in  the  vicinity.  On  the 
following  day  they  gathered  from  all  the  camps  in 
in. — K  g  9 


98  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

the  neighborhood  and  marched  in  force  on  JLongueil, 
bent  on  making  the  peasants  pay  dearly  for  tho 
slaughter  of  their  comrades. 

This  time  they  found  entrance  not  so  easy.  The 
gates  were  closed,  the  walls  well  manned.  Big  Ferre 
was  now  the  captain  of  Longueil,  and  so  little  did  he 
or  his  followers  fear  the  assaults  of  their  foes,  that 
they  sallied  out  boldly  upon  them,  their  captain  in 
the  lead  with  his  mighty  axe. 

Fierce  was  the  fray  that  followed.  The  peasants 
fought  like  tigers,  their  leader  like  a  lion.  The  Eng 
lish  were  broken,  slaughtered,  driven  like  sheep  be 
fore  the  burly  champion  and  his  bold  followers. 
Many  were  slain  or  sorely  wounded.  Numbers  were 
taken,  among  them  some  of  the  English  nobles.  The 
remainder  fled  in  a  panic,  not  able  to  stand  against 
that  vigorous  arm  and  deadly  axe,  and  the  fierce 
courage  which  the  exploits  of  their  leader  gave  to 
the  peasants.  The  field  was  cleared  and  Longueil 
again  saved. 

Big  Ferre,  overcome  with  heat  and  fatigue,  sought 
his  home  at  the  end  of  the  fight,  and  there  drank 
such  immoderate  draughts  of  cold  water  that  he  was 
seized  with  a  fever.  He  was  put  to  bed,  but  would 
not  part  with  his  axe,  "  which  was  so  heavy  that  a 
man  of  the  usual  strength  could  scarcely  lift  it  from 
the  ground  with  both  hands."  In  this  statement  one 
would  say  that  the  worthy  chronicler  must  have 
romanced  a  little. 

The  news  that  their  gigantic  enemy  was  sick  came 
to  the  ears  of  the  English,  and  filled  them  with  joy 
and  hope.  He  was  outside  the  walls  of  Longueil, 


HOW   BIG   FERRj   FOUGHT   FOR   FRANCE.  99 

and  might  be  assailed  in  his  bed.  Twelve  men-at- 
arms  were  chosen,  their  purpose  being  to  creep  up 
secretly  upon  the  place,  surround  it,  and  kill  the 
burly  champion  before  aid  could  come  to  him. 

The  plan  was  well  laid,  but  it  failed  through  the 
watchfulness  of  the  sick  man's  wife.  She  saw  the 
group  of  armed  men  before  they  could  complete  their 
dispositions,  and  hurried  with  the  alarming  news  to 
the  bedside  of  her  husband. 

"  The  English  are  coming !"  she  cried.  "  I  fear  it 
is  for  you  they  are  looking.  What  will  you  do  ?" 

Big  Ferre  answered  by  springing  from  bed,  arm 
ing  himself  in  all  haste  despite  his  sickness,  seizing 
his  axe,  and  leaving  the  house.  Entering  his  little 
yard,  he  saw  the  foe  closing  covertly  in  on  his  small 
mansion,  and  shouted,  angrily, — 

"  Ah,  you  scoundrels  !  you  are  coming  to  take  me 
in  my  bed.  You  shall  not  get  me  there ;  come,  take 
me  here  if  you  will." 

Setting  his  back  against  a  wall,  he  defended  him 
self  with  his  usual  strength  and  courage.  The  Eng 
lish  attacked  him  in  a  body,  but  found  it  impossible 
to  get  inside  the  swing  of  that  deadly  axe.  In  a 
little  while  five  of  them  lay  wounded  upon  the 
ground,  and  the  other  seven  had  taken  to  flight. 

Big  Ferre  returned  triumphantly  to  his  bed  ;  out, 
heated  by  his  exertions,  he  drank  again  too  freely  of 
cold  water.  In  consequence  his  fever  returned,  more 
violently  than  before.  A  few  days  afterwards  the 
brave  fellow,  sinking  under  his  sickness,  went  out  of 
the  world,  conquered  by  water  where  steel  had  been 
of  no  avail.  "  All  his  comrades  and  his  country  wept 


100  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

for  him  bitterly,  for,  so  long  as  he  lived,  the  English 
would  not  have  come  nigh  this  place." 

And  so  ended  the  short  but  brilliant  career  of  the 
notable  Big  Ferre,  one  of  those  peasant  heroes  who 
have  risen  from  time  to  time  in  all  countries,  yet 
rarely  have  lived  long  enough  to  make  their  fame 
enduring.  His  fate  teaches  one  useful  warning,  that 
imprudence  is  often  more  dangerous  than  armed 
men. 

We  are  told  nothing  concerning  the  fate  of  Lon- 
gueil  after  his  death.  Probably  the  English  found 
it  an  easy  prey  when  deprived  of  the  peasant  cham 
pion,  who  had  held  it  so  bravely  and  well ;  though 
it  may  be  that  the  wraith  of  the  burly  hero  hung 
about  the  place  and  still  inspired  his  late  compan 
ions  to  successful  resistance  to  their  foes.  Its  fate 
is  one  of  those  many  half-told  tales  on  which  history 
shuts  its  door,  after  revealing  all  that  it  holds  to  be 
of  interest  to  mankind. 


BERTRAND  DU  GUESCLIN. 

IN  the  castle  of  Motte-Broon,  near  Eennes,  France, 
there  was  born  about  the  year  1314  "the  ugliest 
child  from  Eennes  to  Dinan,"  as  an  uncomplimentary 
chronicle  says.  He  was  a  flat-nosed,  swarthy,  big- 
headed,  broad-shouldered  fellow,  a  regular  wretch, 
in  his  own  mother's  words,  violent  in  temper,  using 
his  fist  as  freely  as  his  tongue,  driving  his  tutor 
away  before  he  could  teach  him  to  read,  but  having 
no  need  to  be  taught  to  fight,  since  this  art  came  to 
him  by  nature.  At  sixteen  he  fled  from  home  to 
Eennes,  where  he  entered  into  adventures,  quar 
rels,  and  challenges,  and  distinguished  himself  by 
strength,  courage,  and  a  strong  sense  of  honor. 

He  quickly  took  part  in  the  wars  of  the  time, 
showed  his  prowess  in  every  encounter,  and  in  the 
war  against  Navarre  won  the  highest  honors.  At 
a  later  date  he  engaged  in  the  civil  wars  of  Spain, 
where  he  headed  an  army  of  thirty  thousand  men. 
In  the  end  the  adventurers  who  followed  him,  Bur- 
gundian,  Picard,  Champagnese,  Norman,  and  others, 
satisfied  with  their  spoils,  left  him  and  returned  to 
France.  Bertrand  had  but  some  fifteen  hundred 
men-at-arms  remaining  under  his  command  when  a 
great  peril  confronted  him.  He  was  a  supporter  of 
9*  101 


HISTORICAL   TALES. 


Henry  of  Transtamare,  who  was  favorable  to  France, 
and  who  had  made  him  Constable  of  Castile.  This 
was  not  pleasing  to  Edward  III.  of  England.  Don 
Pedro  the  Cruel,  a  king  equally  despised  and  detested, 
had  been  driven  from  Castile  by  the  French  allies  of 
his  brother  Henry.  Edward  III.  determined  to  re 
place  him  on  the  throne,  and  with  this  intent  sent 
his  son,  the  Black  Prince,  with  John  Chandos,  the 
ablest  of  the  English  leaders,  and  an  army  of  twenty- 
seven  thousand  men,  into  the  distracted  kingdom. 

A  fierce  battle  followed  on  April  3,  1367.  The  ill- 
disciplined  soldiers  of  Henry  were  beaten  and  put  to 
rout.  Du  Guesclin  and  his  men-at-arms  alone  main 
tained  the  fight,  with  a  courage  that  knew  no  yield 
ing.  In  the  end  they  were  partly  driven  back,  partly 
slain.  Du  Guesclin  set  his  back  against  a  wall,  and 
fought  with  heroic  courage.  There  were  few  with 
him.  Up  came  the  Prince  of  Wales,  saw  what  was 
doing,  and  cried,  — 

"  Gentle  marshals  of  France,  and  you  too,  Bertrand, 
yield  yourselves  to  me." 

"  Yonder  men  are  my  foes,"  exclaimed  Don  Pedro, 
who  accompanied  the  prince  ;  "  it  is  they  who  took 
from  me  my  kingdom,  and  on  them  I  mean  to  take 
vengeance." 

He  came  near  to  have  ended  his  career  of  ven 
geance  then  and  there.  Du  Guesclin,  incensed  at 
his  words,  sprang  forward  and  dealt  him  so  furious 
a  blow  with  his  sword  as  to  hurl  him  fainting  to  the 
ground.  Then,  turning  to  the  prince,  the  valiant 
warrior  said,  "  Pathless,  I  give  up  my  sword  to  the 
most  valiant  prince  on  earth." 


BERTRAND   DU   GUESCLIN.  103 

The  prince  took  the  sword,  and  turning  to  the 
Captal  of  Buch,  the  Navarrese  commander,  whom 
Bertrand  had  years  before  defeated  and  captured, 
bade  him  keep  the  prisoner. 

"  Aha !  Sir  Bertrand,"  said  the  Captal,  "  you  took 
me  at  the  battle  of  Cocherel,  and  to-day  I've  got 
you." 

"  Yes,"  retorted  Bertrand;  "  but  at  Cocherel  I  took 
you  myself,  and  here  you  are  only  my  keeper." 

Pedro  was  restored  to  the  throne  of  Castilo, — 
which  he  was  not  long  to  hold, — and  the  Prince  of 
Wales  returned  to  Bordeaux,  bringing  with  him  his 
prisoner.  He  treated  him  courteously  enough,  but 
held  him  in  strict  captivity,  and  to  Sir  Hugh  Cal- 
verley,  who  begged  that  he  would  release  him  at  a 
ransom  suited  to  his  small  estate,  he  answered, — 

"  I  have  no  wish  for  ransom  from  him.  I  will 
have  his  life  prolonged  in  spite  of  himself.  If  he 
were  released  he  would  be  in  battle  again,  and  always 
making  war." 

And  so  Bertrand  remained  in  captivity,  until  an 
event  occurred  of  which  the  chroniclers  give  us  an 
entertaining  story.  It  is  this  event  which  it  is  our 
purpose  to  relate. 

A  day  came  in  which  the  Prince  of  Wales  and  his 
noble  companions,  having  risen  from  dinner,  were 
amusing  themselves  with  narratives  of  daring  deeds 
of  arms,  striking  love-passages,  and  others  of  the 
tales  with  which  the  barons  of  that  day  were  wont 
to  solace  their  leisure.  The  talk  came  round  to  the 
story  of  how  St.  Louis,  when  captive  in  Tunis,  had 
been  ransomed  with  fine  gold,  paid  down  by  weight. 


104  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

At  this  point  the  prince  spoke,  somewhat  unthink- 


"  When  a  good  knight  is  made  prisoner  in  fair  feat 
of  arms,"  he  said,  "  and  sworn  to  abide  prisoner,  he 
should  on  no  account  depart  without  his  master's 
leave.  But  one  should  not  demand  such  portion  of 
his  substance  in  ransom  as  to  leave  him  unable  to 
equip  himself  again." 

The  Sire  de  Lebret,  who  was  friendly  to  Du 
Guesclin,  answered, — 

"  Noble  sire,  be  not  angry  if  I  relate  what  I  have 
heard  said  of  you  in  your  absence." 

"  By  my  faith,"  said  the  prince,  "  right  little  should 
I  love  follower  of  mine,  sitting  at  my  table,  if  he 
heai  d  a  word  said  against  my  honor  and  apprised 
me  not  of  it." 

"  Sire,"  answered  he  of  Lebret,  "  men  say  that  you 
hold  in  prison  a  knight  whose  name  I  well  know, 
whom  you  dare  not  deliver." 

"  That  is  true,"  broke  in  Oliver  de  Clisson ;  "  I  have 
heard  the  same  said." 

The  prince  heard  them  with  a  countenance  that 
reddened  with  anger. 

"I  know  no  knight  in  the  world,"  he  declared, 
"  who,  if  he  were  my  prisoner,  I  would  not  put  to  a 
fair  ransom,  according  to  his  ability." 

"  How,  then,  do  you  forget  Bertrand  du  Guesclin  ?" 
said  Lebret. 

The  prince  doubly  changed  color  on  hearing  this. 
He  felt  himself  fairly  caught,  and,  after  a  minute's 
indecision,  he  gave  orders  that  Bertrand  should  be 
brought  before  him. 


BERTRAND   DU   GUESCLIN.  105 

The  knights  who  went  in  search  found  Bertrand 
talking  with  his  chamberlain,  as  a  relief  to  his 
weariness. 

"  You  are  come  in  good  time,"  he  said  to  his  vis 
itors,  and  bade  the  chamberlain  bring  wine. 

"  It  is  fitting  that  we  should  have  good  and  strong 
wine,"  said  one  of  the  knights,  "  for  we  bring  you 
good  and  pleasant  tidings,  with  the  best  of  good 
will." 

"  The  prince  has  sent  us  for  you,"  said  another. 
"  We  think  you  will  be  ransomed  by  the  help  of  the 
many  friends  you  have  in  court." 

"  What  say  you  ?"  answered  Bertrand.  "  I  have 
not  a  half-penny  to  my  purse,  and  owe  more  than 
ten  thousand  livres  in  this  city,  which  have  been 
lent  me  since  I  have  been  held  prisoner  here.  I 
cannot  well  ask  more  from  my  friends." 

"  How  have  you  got  rid  of  so  much  ?"  asked  one 
of  his  visitors . 

"  I  can  easily  answer  for  that,"  said  Bertrand,  with 
a  laugh.  "  I  have  eaten,  drunk,  given,  and  played 
at  dice.  A  little  money  is  soon  spent.  But  that 
matters  not ;  if  once  free  I  shall  soon  pay  it.  He 
who,  for  my  help,  lends  me  the  keys  of  his  money, 
has  it  in  the  best  of  keeping." 

"  Sir,  you  are  stout-hearted,"  answered  an  officer. 
"  It  seems  to  you  that  everything  which  you  would 
have  must  happen." 

"By  my  faith,  you  are  right,"  said  Bertrand, 
heartily.  "  In  my  view  a  dispirited  man  is  a  beaten 
discomfited  one." 

"  Surely  there  is  enchantment  in  your  blood,"  re- 


106  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

joined  the  officer,  "  for  you  seem  proof  against  every 
shock." 

Leaving  Bertrand' s  chamber,  they  sought  that  in 
which  was  the  prince  and  his  companions.  The 
prisoner  was  dressed  in  a  rough  gray  coat,  and  bore 
himself  with  manly  ease  and  assurance.  The  prince 
laughed  pleasantly  on  seeing  him. 

"  Well,  Bertrand,  how  are  you  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Sir,  when  it  shall  please  you,  I  may  fare  better," 
answered  Bertrand,  bowing  slightly.  "  Many  a  day 
have  I  heard  the  rats  and  mice,  but  it  is  long  since  I 
have  heard  the  song  of  birds.  I  shall  hear  them 
when  it  is  your  pleasure." 

"  That  shall  be  when  you  will,  Bertrand,"  said  the 
prince.  "  I  require  you  only  to  swear  never  to  bear 
arms  against  me  nor  these  with  me,  nor  to  assist 
Henry  of  Spain.  If  you  consent  to  this,  we  shall 
set  you  free,  pay  your  debts,  and  give  ten  thousand 
florins  to  equip  you  anew.  If  you  refuse,  you  shall 
not  go." 

"  Then,  sir,"  answered  Bertrand,  proudly,  "  my 
deliverance  will  not  come  to  pass,  for  before  I  do 
this,  may  I  lie  chained  by  the  leg  in  prison  while  I 
live.  With  God's  will,  I  shall  never  be  a  reproach 
to  my  friends,  but  shall  serve  with  my  whole  heart 
the  good  king  of  France,  and  the  noble  dukes  of 
Anjou,  Berry,  Burgundy,  and  Bourbon,  whose  sub- 
ject  I  have  been.  But,  so  please  you,  worthy  prince, 
suffer  me  to  go.  You  have  held  me  too  long  in 
prison,  wrongfully  and  without  cause.  Had  I  been 
free  I  had  intended  to  go  from  France,  to  work  out 
my  salvation  by  fighting  the  Saracens." 


BERTRAND   DU    GUESCLIN.  107 

"  Why,  then,  went  you  not  straight,  without  stop 
ping  ?"  asked  the  prince. 

"  I  will  tell  you,"  exclaimed  Bertrand,  in  a  loud 
and  fierce  tone.  "We  found  Peter, — the  curse  of 
God  confound  him! — who  had  long  since  thrice 
falsely  murdered  his  noble  queen,  who  was  of  the 
royal  blood  of  France  and  your  own  cousin.  I 
stopped  to  take  revenge  for  her,  and  to  help  Henry, 
whom  I  believe  to  be  the  rightful  king  of  Spain. 
But  you,  through  pride  and  covetousness  of  gold 
and  silver,  came  to  Spain,  thinking  to  have  the 
throne  after  the  death  of  Peter.  In  this  you  injured 
your  own  blood  and  troubled  me  and  my  people, 
ruined  your  friends  and  famished  your  army,  and 
for  what?  After  all  this,  Peter  has  deceived  you 
by  cheating  and  trickery,  for  he  has  not  kept  faith 
aor  covenant  with  you.  But  for  this,  by  my  soul 
and  faith,  I  thank  him  heartily." 

These  bold  words  were  listened  to  by  the  prince 
with  a  changeful  face.  Seldom  had  he  heard  the 
truth  spoken  so  bluntly,  or  with  such  firm  composure 
in  the  speaker.  When  he  had  ceased,  the  prince  rose, 
and  with  a  somewhat  bitter  laugh  declared  that,  on 
his  soul,  Bertrand  had  spoken  but  the  truth.  The 
barons  around  repeated  the  same  among  themselves, 
and,  fixing  their  eyes  on  Bertrand,  said, — "  A  brave 
fellow,  the  Breton." 

"  Whether  this  be  truth  or  no,  Bertrand,"  continued 
the  prince,  "  you  have  rejected  my  offer,  and  shall 
not  escape  without  a  good  ransom.  It  vexes  me  to 
let  you  go  at  all,  for  your  king  has  none  like  you ; 
but  as  men  say  that  I  keep  you  prisoner  because  I 


108  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

fear  you,  you  shall  go  free  on  payment  of  sufficient 
ransom.  Men  shall  learn  that  I  neither  fear  nor  care 
for  you." 

"  Sir,  I  thank  you,"  said  Bertrand.  "  But  I  am  a 
poor  knight  of  little  name  and  small  means.  What 
estate  I  have  is  deeply  mortgaged  for  the  purchase 
of  war-horses,  and  I  owe  besides  in  this  town  full  ten 
thousand  florins.  I  pray  you,  therefore,  to  be  mod 
erate,  and  deliver  me." 

"  Where  will  you  go,  fair  sir  ?"  asked  the  prince. 

"  Where  I  may  regain  my  loss,"  answered  Bertrand. 
"  More  than  that,  I  say  not." 

"  Consider,  then,"  said  the  prince,  "  what  ransom 
you  will  give  me.  What  sum  you  name  shall  be 
enough  for  me." 

"  I  trust  you  will  not  stoop  to  retract  your  mean 
ing,"  rejoined  Bertrand.  "  And  since  you  are  content 
to  refer  it  to  my  pleasure,  I  ought  not  to  value  my 
self  too  low.  So  I  will  give  and  engage  for  my  free 
dom  one  hundred  thousand  double  golden  florins." 

These  words  roused  the  greatest  surprise  and  ex 
citement  in  the  room.  Many  of  those  present  started, 
and  the  prince  changed  color,  as  he  looked  around  at 
his  knights. 

"  Does  he  mean  to  make  game  of  me,  that  he  offers 
such  a  sum?"  asked  the  prince.  "I  would  gladly 
free  him  for  the  quarter." 

Then,  turning  again  to  Bertrand,  who  stood  witD 
impassive  countenance,  he  said, — 

"Bertrand,  neither  can  you  pay,  nor  do  I  wish, 
such  a  sum.  So  consider  again." 

"  Sir,"  answered  Bertrand,  with  grave  composure. 


BERTRAND   DU   UTJESCLIN.  109 


"  since  you  wish  not  so  much,  I  place  myself  at  j 
thousand  double  florins  ;  you  shall  not  have  less,  if 
you  but  discharge  me." 

"  Be  it  so,"  said  the  prince.     "  I  agree  to  it." 

Then  Bertrand  looked  round  him  with  glad  eyes, 
and  drew  up  his  form  with  proud  assurance. 

"  Sir,"  he  said,  "  Prince  Henry  may  truly  vaunt 
that  he  will  die  king  of  Spain,  cost  him  what  it  may, 
if  he  but  lend  me  half  my  ransom,  and  the  king  of 
France  the  other.  If  I  can  neither  go  nor  send  to 
these  two,  I  will  get  all  the  spinstresses  in  France  to 
spin  it,  rather  than  that  I  should  remain  longer  in 
your  hands." 

"  What  sort  of  man  is  this  ?"  said  the  prince,  aside 
to  his  lords.  "  He  is  startled  by  nothing,  either  in 
act  or  thought  ;  no  more  than  if  he  had  all  the  gold 
in  the  world.  He  has  set  himself  at  sixty  thousand 
double  florins,  when  I  would  have  willingly  accepted 
ten  thousand." 

The  barons  talked  among  one  another,  lost  in  as 
tonishment.  Bertrand  stood  aside,  his  eyes  fixed 
quietly  upon  the  prince. 

"  Am  I  then  at  liberty  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Whence  shall  the  money  come  ?"  queried  Chandos. 

"Trust  me  to  find  it,"  said  Bertrand.  "I  have 
good  friends." 

"  By  my  faith,"  answered  Chandos,  heartily,  "  you 
have  one  of  them  here.  If  you  need  my  help,  thus 
much  I  say  :  I  will  lend  you  ten  thousand." 

"  You  have  my  thanks,"  answered  Bertrand.  "  But 
before  accepting  your  offer,  I  will  try  the  people  of 
my  own  country." 

10 


110  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

The  confidence  of  the  gallant  soldier  was  not  mis* 
placed.  Part  of  the  sum  was  raised  among  his 
Breton  friends,  and  King  Charles  Y.  of  France  lent 
him  thirty  thousand  Spanish  doubloons.  In  the 
beginning  of  1368  the  Prince  of  Wales  set  him  at 
liberty. 

The  remaining  story  of  the  life  of  Du  Guesclin  is 
a  stirring  and  interesting  one.  War  was  the  only 
trade  he  knew,  and  he  plunged  boldly  into  it.  First 
he  joined  the  Duke  of  Anjou,  who  was  warring  in 
Provence  against  Queen  Joan  of  Naples.  Then  he 
put  his  sword  again  at  the  service  of  Henry  of  Trans- 
tamare,  who  was  at  war  once  more  with  Pedro  the 
Cruel,  and  whom  he  was  soon  to  dethrone  and  slay 
with  his  own  hand.  But  shortly  afterwards  war 
broke  out  again  between  France  and  England,  and 
Charles  Y.  summoned  Du  Guesclin  to  Paris. 

The  king's  purpose  was  to  do  the  greatest  honor  to 
the  poor  but  proud  soldier.  He  offered  him  the  high 
office  of  Constable  of  France, — commander-in-chief 
of  the  army  and  the  first  dignitary  under  the  crown. 
Du  Guesclin  prayed  earnestly  to  be  excused,  but  the 
king  insisted,  and  he  in  the  end  felt  obliged  to  yield. 
The  poor  Breton  had  now  indeed  risen  to  high  estate. 
The  king  set  him  beside  himself  at  table,  showed  him 
the  deepest  affection,  and  showered  on  him  gifts  and 
estates.  His  new  wealth  the  free-handed  soldier 
dispensed  lavishly,  giving  numerous  and  sumptuous 
dinners,  where,  says  his  poet  chronicler, — 

"  At  Bertrand's  plate  gazed  every  eye, 
So  massive,  chased  so  gloriously." 


BEETRAND   DU   GUESCLIN.  Ill 

This  plate  proved  a  slippery  possession.  More  than 
once  he  pledged  it,  and  in  the  end  sold  great  part  of 
it,  to  pay  "  without  fail  the  knights  and  honorable 
fighting-men  of  whom  he  was  the  leader." 

The  war  roused  a  strong  spirit  of  nationality 
through  France.  Towns,  strongholds,  and  castles 
were  everywhere  occupied  and  fortified.  The  Eng 
lish  marched  through  the  country,  but  found  no  army 
in  the  field,  no  stronghold  that  was  to  be  had  without 
a  hard  siege.  Du  Guesclin  adopted  the  waiting 
policy,  and  kept  to  it  firmly  against  all  opposition  of 
lord  or  prince.  It  was  his  purpose  to  let  the  English 
scatter  and  waste  themselves  in  a  host  of  small 
operations  and  petty  skirmishes.  For  eight  years 
the  war  continued,  with  much  suffering  to  France, 
with  no  gain  to  England.  In  1373  an  English  army 
landed  at  Calais,  which  overran  nearly  the  whole  of 
France  without  meeting  a  French  army  or  master 
ing  a  French  fortress,  while  incessantly  harassed  by 
detached  parties  of  soldiers.  On  returning,  of  the 
thirty  thousand  horses  with  which  they  had  landed, 
"  they  could  not  muster  more  than  six  thousand  at 
Bordeaux,  and  had  lost  full  a  third  of  their  men  and 
more.  There  were  seen  noble  knights  who  had  great 
possessions  in  their  own  country,  toiling  along  afoot, 
without  armor,  and  begging  their  bread  from  door  to 
door  without  getting  any."  Such  were  the  happy 
results  for  France  of  the  Fabian  policy  of  the  Con 
stable  l)u  Guesclin. 

A  truce  was  at  length  signed,  that  both  parties 
might  have  time  to  breathe.  Soon  afterwards,  on 
June  8,  1376,  the  Black  Prince  died,  and  in  June  of 


112  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

the  following  year  his  father,  Edward  III.,  followed 
him  to  the  tomb,  and  France  was  freed  from  its 
greatest  foes.  During  his  service  as  constable,  Ber- 
trand  had  recovered  from  English  hands  the  prov* 
inces  of  Poitou,  Guienne,  and  Auvergne,  and  thus 
done  much  towards  the  establishment  of  a  united 
France. 

Du  Guesclin  was  not  long  to  survive  his  great 
English  enemies.  The  king  treated  him  unjustly, 
and  he  threw  up  his  office  of  constable,  declaring 
that  he  would  seek  Spain  and  enter  the  service  of 
Henry  of  Castile.  This  threat  brought  the  king  to 
his  senses.  He  sent  the  Dukes  of  Anjou  and  Bour 
bon  to  beg  Du  Guesclin  to  retain  his  office.  The 
indignant  soldier  yielded  to  their  persuasions,  ac 
cepted  again  the  title  of  Constable  of  France,  and 
died  four  days  afterwards,  on  July  13,  1380.  He 
had  been  sent  into  Languedoc  to  suppress  disturb 
ances  and  brigandage,  provoked  by  the  harsh  gov 
ernment  of  the  Duke  of  Anjou,  and  in  this  service 
fell  sick  while  besieging  Chateauneuf-Kaudon,  in  the 
Gevandan,  a  fortress  then  held  by  the  English.  He 
died  at  sixty-six  years  of  age,  with  his  last  words 
exhorting  the  captains  around  him  "  never  to  forget 
that,  in  whatsoever  country  they  might  be  making 
war,  churchmen,  women,  children,  and  the  poor  peo 
ple  were  not  their  enemies." 

He  won  victory  even  after  his  death,  so  say  the 
chronicles  of  that  day.  It  is  related  that  an  agree 
ment  had  been  made  for  the  surrender  of  the  be 
sieged  fortress,  and  that  the  date  fixed  was  July  14, 
the  day  after  Du  Guesclin  died.  The  new  com- 


BERTEAND   DU   GUESCLIN.  113 

niander  of  the  army  summoned  the  governor  to 
surrender,  but  he  declared  that  he  had  given  his 
word  to  Du  Guesclin,  and  would  yield  the  place  to 
no  other.  He  was  told  that  the  constable  was  dead. 

"  Yery  well;"  he  replied,  "  I  will  carry  the  keys  of 
the  town  to  his  tomb." 

And  so  he  did.  He  marched  out  of  the  place  at 
the  head  of  his  garrison,  passed  through  the  lines  of 
the  besieging  army,  knelt  before  Du  Guesclin's  corpse, 
and  laid  the  keys  of  Chateauneuf-Eaudon  on  his 
bier. 

And  thus  passed  away  one  of  the  greatest  and 
noblest  warriors  France  had  ever  known,  honored  in 
life  and  triumphant  in  death. 


JOAN  OF  ARC,    THE  MAID    OF 
ORLEANS. 

AT  the  hour  of  noon,  on  a  sunny  summers  day  in 
the  year  of  our  Lord  1425.  a  young  girl  of  the  little 
village  of  Domremy,  France,  stood  with  bent  head 
and  thoughtful  eyes  in  the  small  garden  attached  to 
her  father's  humble  home.  There  was  nothing  in 
her  appearance  to  attract  a  second  glance.  Her 
parents  were  peasants,  her  occupation  was  one  of 
constant  toil,  her  attire  was  of  the  humblest,  her  life 
had  been  hitherto  spent  in  aiding  her  mother  at  home 
or  in  driving  her  father's  few  sheep  afield.  None 
who  saw  her  on  that  day  could  have  dreamed  that 
this  simple  peasant  maiden  was  destined  to  become 
one  of  the  most  famous  women  whose  name  history 
records,  and  that  this  da>  ^as  that  of  the  beginning 
of  her  career. 

She  had  been  born  at  a  critical  period  in  history. 
Her  country  was  in  extremity.  For  the  greater  part 
of  a  century  the  dreadful  "  Hundred  Years'  War" 
had  been  waged,  desolating  France,  destroying  its 
people  by  the  thousands,  bringing  it  more  and  more 
under  the  dominion  of  a  foreign  foe.  The  realm  of 
France  had  now  reached  its  lowest  depth  of  disaster, 
its  king  uncrowned,  its  fairest  regions  overrun, — here 
by  the  English,  there  by  the  Burgundians, — the  whole 
114 


JOAN   OF  ARC,  THE   MAID   OF   ORLEANS.  115 

kingdom  in  peril  of  being  taken  and  reduced  to  vas 
salage.  Never  before  nor  since  had  the  need  of  a 
deliverer  been  so  vitally  felt.  The  deliverer  chosen 
of  heaven  was  the  young  peasant  girl  who  walked 
that  summer  noon  in  her  father's  humble  garden  at 
Domremy. 

Young  as  she  was,  she  had  seen  the  horrors  of  war. 
Four  years  before  the  village  had  been  plundered  and 
burnt,  its  defenders  slain  or  wounded,  the  surround 
ing  country  devastated.  The  story  of  the  suffering 
and  peril  of  France  was  in  all  French  ears.  Doubt 
less  little  Joan's  soul  burned  with  sympathy  for  her 
beloved  land  as  she  moved  thoughtfully  up  and  down 
the  garden  paths,  asking  herself  if  God  could  longer 
permit  such  wrongs  and  disasters  to  continue. 

Suddenly,  to  her  right,  in  the  direction  of  the 
small  village  church,  Joan  heard  a  voice  calling  her, 
and,  looking  thither,  she  was  surprised  and  frightened 
at  seeing  a  great  light.  The  voice  continued ;  her 
courage  returned ;  "  it  was  a  worthy  voice,"  she  tells 
us,  one  that  could  come  only  from  angels.  "  I  saw 
them  with  my  bodily  eyes,"  she  afterwards  said. 
"  When  they  departed  from  me  I  wept  and  would 
fain  have  had  them  take  me  with  them."  Again 
and  again  came  to  her  the  voices  and  the  forms ; 
they  haunted  her ;  and  still  the  burden  of  their  ex 
hortation  was  the  same,  that  she  should  "  go  to  France 
to  deliver  the  kingdom."  The  girl  grew  dreamy. 
She  became  lost  in  meditation,  full  of  deep  thoughts 
and  budding  purposes,  wrought  by  the  celestial  voices 
into  high  hopes  and  noble  aspirations,  possessed  with 
the  belief  that  she  had  been  chosen  by  heaven  to 


116  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

deliver  France  from  its  woes  and  to  disconcert  its 
enemies. 

The  times  were  fitting  for  such  a  conception.  Two 
forces  ruled  men's  minds, — ambition  and  superstition. 
Faith  was  supreme  ;  science  had  not  been  born.  The 
powerful  trusted  to  their  own  arms  for  aid ;  the  weak 
and  miserable  turned  to  Christ  and  the  Yirgin  for 
support ;  there  were  those  who  looked  to  see  God  in 
bodily  person ;  His  angels  and  ministers  were  thought 
to  deal  directly  with  man ;  it  was  an  age  in  which 
force  and  fraud  alike  were  dominant,  in  which  men 
were  governed  in  their  bodies  by  the  sword,  in  their 
souls  by  their  belief  in  and  dread  of  the  supernatural, 
and  in  which  enthusiasm  had  higher  sway  than 
thought.  It  was  enthusiastic  belief  in  her  divine 
mission  that  moved  Joan  of  Arc.  It  was  trust  in 
her  as  God's  agent  of  deliverance  that  filled  the  soul 
of  France  with  new  spirit,  and  unnerved  her  foes 
with  superstitious  fears.  Joan's  mission  and  her  age 
were  well  associated.  In  the  nineteenth  century  she 
would  have  been  covered  with  ridicule;  in  the 
fifteenth  she  led  France  to  victory. 

Three  years  passed  away.  Joan's  faith  in  her 
mission  had  grown  with  the  years.  Some  ridiculed, 
many  believed  her.  The  story  of  her  angelic  voices 
was  spreading.  At  length  came  the  event  that 
moved  her  to  action.  The  English  laid  siege  to 
Orleans,  the  most  important  city  in  the  kingdom 
after  Paris  and  Eouen.  If  this  were  lost,  all  might 
be  lost.  Some  of  the  bravest  warriors  of  France 
fought  in  its  defence;  but  the  gai-rison  was  weak, 
the  English  were  strong,  their  works  surrounded  the 


JOAN   OF   ARC,  THE   MAID   OF   ORLEANS.  117 

walls ;  daily  the  city  was  more  closely  pressed ;  unless 
relieved  it  must  fall. 

"  I  must  go  to  raise  the  siege  of  Orleans,"  said  Joan 
to  Eobert  de  Baudricourt,  commander  of  Vaucouleurs, 
with  whom  she  had  gained  speech.  "  I  will  go,  should 
I  have  to  wear  off  my  legs  to  the  knee." 

"  I  must  be  with  the  king  before  the  middle  of 
Lent,"  she  said  later  to  John  of  Metz,  a  knight  serv 
ing  with  Eaudricourt ;  "  for  none  in  the  world,  nor 
kings,  nor  dukes,  nor  daughter  of  the  Scottish  king 
can  recover  the  kingdom  of  France ;  there  is  no  help 
but  in  me.  Assuredly  I  would  far  rather  be  spinning 
beside  my  poor  mother,  for  this  other  is  not  my  con 
dition  ;  but  I  must  go  and  do  my  work  because  my 
Lord  wills  that  I  should  do  it." 

"  Who  is  your  Lord  ?"  asked  John  of  Metz. 

"  The  Lord  God." 

"  By  my  faith,"  cried  the  knight,  as  he  seized  her 
hands.  "  I  will  take  you  to  the  king,  God  helping. 
When  will  you  set  out  ?" 

"  Eather  now  than  to-morrow ;  rather  to-morrow 
than  later,"  said  Joan. 

On  the  6th  of  March,  1429,  the  devoted  girl  arrived 
at  Chinon,  in  Touraine,  where  the  king  then  was. 
She  had  journeyed  nearly  a  hundred  and  fifty  leagues, 
through  a  country  that  was  everywhere  a  theatre  of 
war,  without  harm  or  insult.  She  was  dressed  in  a 
coat  of  mail,  bore  lance  and  sword,  and  had  a  king's 
messenger  and  an  archer  as  her  train.  This  had 
been  deemed  necessary  to  her  safety  in  those  dis 
tracted  times. 

Interest  and  curiosity  went  before  her.     Baudri- 


118  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

court  s  letters  to  the  king  had  prepared  him  for  some 
thing  remarkable.  Certain  incidents  which  happened 
during  Joan's  journey,  and  which  were  magnified  by 
report  into  miracles,  added  to  the  feeling  in  her  favor 
The  king  and  his  council  doubted  if  it  were  wis^  to 
give  her  an  audience.  That  a  peasant  girl  could 
succor  a  kingdom  in  extremity  seemed  the  height 
of  absurdity.  But  something  must  be  done.  Orleans 
was  in  imminent  danger.  If  it  were  taken,  the  king 
might  have  to  fly  to  Spain  or  Scotland.  He  had  no 
money.  His  treasury,  it  is  said,  held  only  four 
crowns.  He  had  no  troops  to  send  to  the  besieged 
city.  Drowning  men  catch  at  straws.  The  people 
of  Orleans  had  heard  of  Joan  and  clamored  for  her ; 
with  her,  they  felt  sure,  would  come  magical  aid 
The  king  consented  to  receive  her. 

It  was  the  9th  of  March,  1429.  The  hour  was 
evening.  Candles  dimly  lighted  the  great  hall  of  the 
king's  palace  at  Chinon,  in  which  nearly  three  hun 
dred  knights  were  gathered.  Charles  VII.,  the  king, 
was  among  them,  distinguished  by  no  mark  or  sign, 
more  plainly  dressed  than  most  of  those  around  him, 
standing  retired  in  the  throng. 

Joan  was  introduced.  The  story — it  is  little  better 
than  legend — says  that  she  walked  straight  to  the 
king  through  the  crowd  of  showily-dressed  lords  and 
knights,  though  she  had  never  seen  him  before,  and 
daid,  in  quiet  and  humble  tones, — 

"  Gentle  dauphin"  (she  did  not  think  it  right  to 
call  him  king  until  he  had  been  crowned),  "  my  name 
is  Joan  the  maid ;  the  King  of  Heaven  sendeth  you 
word  by  me  that  you  shall  be  anointed  and  crowned 


JOAN   OF   ARC,  THE   MAID   OF   ORLEANS.  119 

in  the  city  of  Bheims,  and  shall  be  lieutenant  of  the 
King  of  Heaven,  who  is  king  of  France.  It  is  God's 
pleasure  that  our  enemies,  the  English,  should  depart 
to  their  own  country ;  if  they  depart  not,  evil  will 
come  to  them,  and  the  kingdom  is  sure  to  continue 
yours." 

"What  followed  is  shrouded  in  doubt.  Some  say 
that  Joan  told  Charles  things  that  none  but  himself 
had  known.  However  this  be,  the  king  determined 
to  go  to  Poitiers  and  have  this  seeming  messenger 
from  Heaven  questioned  strictly  as  to  her  mission,  by 
learned  theologians  of  the  University  of  Paris  there 
present. 

"  In  the  name  of  God,"  said  Joan,  "  I  know  that  I 
shall  have  tough  work  there,  but  my  Lord  will  help 
me.  Let  us  go,  then,  for  God's  sake." 

They  went.  It  was  an  august  and  learned  assembly 
into  which  the  unlettered  girl  was  introduced,  yet 
for  two  hours  she  answered  all  their  questions  with 
simple  earnestness  and  shrewd  wit. 

"  In  what  language  do  the  voices  speak  to  you  ?" 
asked  Father  Seguin,  the  Dominican,  "  a  very  sour 
man,"  says  the  chronicle. 

"  Better  than  yours,"  answered  Joan.  The  doctor 
spoke  a  provincial  dialect. 

"  Do  you  believe  in  God  ?"  he  asked,  sharply. 

"  More  than  you  do,"  answered  Joan,  with  equal 
sharpness. 

"  Well,"  he  answered,  "  God  forbids  belief  in  you 
without  some  sign  tending  thereto ;  I  shall  not  give 
the  king  advice  to  trust  men-at-arms  to  you  and 
put  them  in  peril  on  your  simple  word." 


120  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

"  In  the  name  of  God,"  replied  Joan,  "  I  am  not 
come  to  Poitiers  to  show  signs.  Take  me  to  Orleans 
and  I  will  give  you  signs  of  what  I  am  sent  for 
Let  me  have  ever  so  few  men-at-arms  given  me  anc* 
I  will  go  to  Orleans." 

For  a  fortnight  the  questioning  was  continued 
In  the  end  the  doctors  pronounced  in  Joan's  favor. 
Two  of  them  were  convinced  of  her  divine  mission. 
They  declared  that  she  was  the  virgin  foretold  in 
ancient  prophecies,  notably  in  those  of  Merlin.  All 
united  in  saying  that  "  there  had  been  discovered  in 
her  naught  but  goodness,  humility,  devotion,  hon 
esty,  and  simplicity." 

Charles  decided.  The  Maid  should  go  to  Orleans. 
A  suit  of  armor  was  made  to  fit  her.  She  was  given 
the  following  of  a  war-chief.  She  had  a  white 
banner  made,  which  was  studded  with  lilies,  and 
bore  on  it  a  figure  of  God  seated  on  clouds  and  bear 
ing  a  globe,  while  below  were  two  kneeling  angels, 
above  were  the  words  "  Jesu  Maria."  Her  sword  she 
required  the  king  to  provide.  One  would  be  found, 
she  said,  marked  with  five  crosses,  behind  the  altar 
in  the  chapel  of  St.  Catharine  de  Fierbois,  where  she 
had  stopped  on  her  arrival  in  Chinon.  Search  was 
made,  and  the  sword  was  found. 

And  now  five  weeks  were  passed  in  weary  pre 
liminaries,  despite  the  fact  that  Orleans  pleaded 
earnestly  for  succor.  Joan  had  friends  at  court,  but 
she  had  powerful  enemies,  whose  designs  her  coming 
had  thwarted,  and  it  was  they  who  secretly  opposed 
her  plans.  At  length,  on  the  27th  of  April,  the 
march  to  Orleans  began. 


JOAN   OF   ARC,  THE   MAID   OF   ORLEANS.  121 

On  the  29th  the  army  of  relief  arrived  before  the 
city.  There  were  ten  or  twelve  thousand  men  in  the 
train,  guarding  a  heavy  convoy  of  food.  The  English 
covered  the  approach  to  the  walls,  the  only  un 
guarded  passage  being  beyond  the  Loire,  which  ran 
by  the  town.  To  the  surprise  and  vexation  of  Joan 
her  escort  determined  to  cross  the  stream. 

"  Was  it  you,"  she  asked  Dunois,  who  had  left  the 
town  to  meet  her,  "  who  gave  counsel  for  making  me 
come  hither  by  this  side  of  the  river,  and  not  the 
direct  way,  over  there  where  Talbot  and  the  English 
are?" 

"  Yes ;  such  was  the  opinion  of  the  wisest  cap 
tains,"  he  replied. 

"  In  the  name  of  God,  the  counsel  of  my  Lord  is 
wiser  than  yours.  You  thought  to  deceive  me,  and 
you  have  deceived  yourselves,  for  I  am  bringing  you 
the  best  succor  that  ever  had  knight,  or  town,  or 
city,  and  that  is,  the  good-will  of  God  and  succor 
from  the  King  of  Heaven ;  not,  assuredly,  for  love 
of  me ;  it  is  from  God  only  that  it  proceeds." 

She  wished  to  remain  with  the  troops  until  they 
could  enter  the  city,  but  Dunois  urged  her  to  cross 
the  stream  at  once,  with  such  portion  of  the  convoy 
as  the  boats  might  convey  immediately. 

"  Orleans  would  count  it  for  naught,"  he  said,  "  if 
they  received  the  victuals  without  the  Maid." 

She  decided  to  go,  and  crossed  the  stream  with 
two  hundred  men-at-arms  and  part  of  the  supplies. 
At  eight  o'clock  that  evening  she  entered  the  city, 
on  horseback,  in  full  armor,  her  banner  preceding 
her,  beside  her  Dunois,  behind  her  the  captains  of 
w  11 


122  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

the  garrison  and  several  of  the  most  distinguished 
citizens.  The  population  hailed  her  coming  with 
shouts  of  joy,  crowding  on  the  procession,  torch  in 
hand,  so  closely  that  her  banner  was  set  on  fire.  Joan 
made  her  horse  leap  forward  with  the  skill  of  a  prac 
tised  horseman,  and  herself  extinguished  the  flame. 

It  was  a  remarkable  change  in  her  life.  Three 
years  before,  a  simple  peasant  child,  she  had  been 
listening  to  the  "voices"  in  her  father's  garden 
at  Domremy.  Now,  the  associate  of  princes  and 
nobles,  and  the  last  hope  of  the  kingdom,  she  was 
entering  a  beleaguered  city  at  the  head  of  an  army, 
amid  the  plaudits  of  the  population,  and  followed  by 
the  prayers  of  France.  She  was  but  seventeen  years 
old,  still  a  mere  girl,  yet  her  coming  had  filled  her 
countrymen  with  hope  and  depressed  their  foes  with 
dread.  Such  was  the  power  of  superstition  in  that 
good  mediaeval  age. 

The  arrival  of  the  Maid  was  announced  to  the  be 
siegers  by  a  herald,  who  bore  a  summons  from  her  to 
the  English,  bidding  them  to  leave  the  land  or  she 
would  slay  them.  They  detained  and  threatened  to 
burn  the  herald,  as  a  warning  to  Joan,  the  sorceress, 
as  they  deemed  her.  Yet  such  was  their  terror  that 
they  allowed  the  armed  force  still  outside  the  city 
to  enter  unmolested,  through  their  intrenchments. 

The  warning  Joan  had  sent  them  by  herald  she 
now  repeated  in  person,  mounting  a  bastion  and  bid 
ding  the  English,  in  a  loud  voice,  to  begone,  else  woe 
and  shame  would  come  upon  them. 

The  commandant  of  the  bastille  opposite,  Sir  Wil 
liam  Gladesdale,  answered  with  insults,  bidding  her 


JOAN  OF  ARC  AT  ORLEANS. 


JOAN   OF   ARC,  THE   MAID   OF   ORLEANS.  123 

to  go  back  and  mind  her  cows,  and  saying  that  the 
French  were  miscreants. 

"  You  lie !"  cried  Joan ;  "  and  in  spite  of  yourselves 
shall  soon  depart  hence ;  many  of  your  people  shall 
be  slain;  but  as  for  you,  you  shall  not  see  it." 

Nor  did  he;  he  was  drowned  a  few  days  after 
wards,  a  shot  from  Orleans  destroying  a  drawbridge 
on  which  he  stood,  with  many  companions. 

What  succeeded  we  may  tell  briefly.  Inspired  by 
the  intrepid  Maid,  the  besieged  boldly  attacked  the 
British  forts,  and  took  them  one  after  another.  The 
first  captured  was  that  of  St.  Loup,  which  was  car 
ried  by  Joan  and  her  troops,  despite  the  brave  defence 
of  the  English.  The  next  day,  the  6th  of  May,  other 
forts  were  assailed  and  taken,  the  men  of  Orleans, 
led  by  Joan,  proving  irresistible.  The  English  would 
not  face  her  in  the  open  field,  and  under  her  leader 
ship  the  French  intrepidly  stormed  their  ramparts. 

A  memorable  incident  occurred  during  the  assault 
on  the  works  south  of  the  city.  Here  Joan  seized  a 
scaling  ladder,  and  was  mounting  it  herself  when  an 
arrow  struck  and  wounded  her.  She  was  taken 
aside,  her  armor  removed,  and  she  herself  pulled  out 
the  arrow,  though  with  some  tears  and  signs  of 
faintness.  Her  wound  being  dressed,  she  retired  into 
a  vineyard  to  rest  and  pray.  Discouraged  by  her 
absence,  the  French  began  to  give  way.  The  cap 
tains  ordered  the  retreat  to  be  sounded. 

"  My  God,  we  shall  soon  be  inside,"  cried  Joan  to 
Dunois.  "  Give  your  people  a  little  rest ;  eat  and 
drink." 

In  a  short  time  she  resumed  her  arms,  mounted 


124  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

her  horse,  ordered  her  banner  to  be  displayed,  and 
put  herself  at  the  head  of  the  storming  party.  New 
courage  inspired  the  French ;  the  English,  who  had 
seen  her  fall,  and  were  much  encouraged  thereby, 
beheld  her  again  in  arms  with  superstitious  dread. 
Joan  pressed  on ;  the  English  retreated ;  the  fort 
was  taken  without  another  blow.  Back  to  Orleans 
marched  the  triumphant  Maid,  the  people  wild  with 
joy.  All  through  the  night  the  bells  rang  out  glad 
peals,  and  the  Te  Deum  was  chanted.  Much  reason 
had  they  for  joy :  Orleans  was  saved. 

It  was  on  a  Saturday  that  these  events  had  taken 
place.  At  daybreak  of  the  next  day,  Sunday,  May 
8,  the  English  advanced  to  the  moats  of  the  city  as 
if  to  offer  battle.  Some  of  the  French  leaders  wished 
to  accept  their  challenge,  but  Joan  ran  to  the  city 
gates,  and  bade  them  desist  "  for  the  love  and  honor 
of  holy  Sunday." 

"  It  is  God's  good-will  and  pleasure,"  she  said,  "  that 
they  be  allowed  to  get  them  gone  if  they  be  minded 
to  go  away ;  if  they  attack  you,  defend  yourselves 
boldly  ;  you  will  be  the  masters." 

An  altar  was  raised  at  her  suggestion ;  mass  was 
celebrated,  and  hymns  of  thanksgiving  chanted. 
While  this  was  being  done,  the  English  turned  and 
marched  away,  with  banners  flying.  Their  advance 
had  been  an  act  of  bravado. 

"  See,"  cried  Joan,  "  are  the  English  turning  to  you 
their  faces,  or  verily  their  backs  ?  Let  them  go ;  my 
Lord  willeth  not  that  there  be  any  fighting  this  day ; 
you  shall  have  them  another  time." 

Her  words  were  true;  the  English  were  in  full 


JOAN   OF   ARC!,  THE   MAID   OF   ORLEANS.  125 

retreat ;  the  siege  of  Orleans  was  raised.  So  hastily 
had  they  gone  that  they  had  left  their  sick  and  many 
of  their  prisoners  behind,  while  the  abandoned  works 
were  found  to  be  filled  with  provisions  and  military 
supplies.  The  Maid  had  fulfilled  her  mission.  France 
was  saved. 

History  contains  no  instance  to  match  this.  A 
year  before,  Joan  of  Arc,  a  low-born  peasant  girl,  had 
occupied  herself  in  tending  sheep  and  spinning  flax  ; 
her  hours  of  leisure  being  given  to  dreams  and  vis 
ions.  Now,  clad  in  armor  and  at  the  head  of  an 
army,  she  was  gazing  in  triumph  on  the  flight  of  a 
hostile  army,  driven  from  its  seemingly  assured  prey 
by  her  courage,  intrepidity,  and  enthusiasm,  while 
veteran  soldiers  obeyed  her  commands,  experienced 
leaders  yielded  to  her  judgment.  Never  had  the 
world  seen  its  like.  The  Maid  of  Orleans  had  made 
her  name  immortal. 

Three  days  afterwards  Joan  was  with  the  king,  at 
Tours.  She  advanced  to  meet  him  with  her  banner 
in  her  hand,  her  head  uncovered,  and  making  a  deep 
obeisance  over  her  horse's  head.  Charles  met  her 
with  the  deepest  joy,  taking  off  his  cap  and  extend 
ing  his  hand,  while  his  face  beamed  with  warm 
gratitude. 

She  urged  him  to  march  at  once  against  his  flying 
enemies,  and  to  start  without  delay  for  Eheims,  there 
to  be  crowned,  that  her  mission  might  be  fulfilled. 

"  I  shall  hardly  last  more  than  a  year,"  she  said, 
with  prophetic  insight ;  "  we  must  think  of  working 
right  well  this  year,  for  there  is  much  to  do." 

Charles  hesitated ;  hesitation  was  natural  to  him. 
11* 


126  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

He  had  many  advisers  who  opposed  Joan's  counsel 
There  were  no  men,  no  money,  for  so  great  a  journey, 
they  said.  Councils  were  held,  but  nothing  was 
decided  on.  Joan  grew  impatient  and  impetuous. 
Many  supported  her.  Great  lords  from  all  parts  of 
France  promised  their  aid.  One  of  these,  Guy  do 
Laval,  thus  pictures  the  Maid : 

"  It  seems  a  thing  divine  to  look  on  her  and  listen 
to  her.  I  saw  her  mount  on  horseback,  armed  all  in 
white  armor,  save  her  head,  and  with  a  little  axe  in 
her  hand,  on  a  great  black  charger,  which,  at  the 
door  of  her  quarters,  was  very  restive  and  would 
not  let  her  mount.  Then  said  she, '  Lead  him  to  the 
cross/  which  was  in  front  of  the  neighboring  church, 
on  the  road.  There  she  mounted  him  without  his 
moving,  and  as  if  he  were  tied  up ;  and  turning 
towards  the  door  of  the  church,  which  was  very 
nigh  at  hand,  she  said,  in  quite  a  womanly  voice. 
4  You,  priests  and  churchmen,  make  procession  and 
prayers  to  God !'  Then  she  resumed  her  road,  say 
ing,  ( Push  forward,  push  forward !'" 

Push  forward  it  was.  The  army  was  infected 
with  her  enthusiasm,  irresistible  with  belief  in  her. 
On  the  10th  of  June  she  led  them  to  the  siege/ of 
the  fortified  places  which  lay  around  Orleans.  One 
by  one  they  fell.  On  Sunday,  June  12,  Jargeau  was 
taken.  Beaugency  next  fell.  Nothing  could  with 
stand  the  impetuosity  of  the  Maid  and  her  followers 
Patay  was  assailed. 

"  Have  you  good  spurs  ?"  she  asked  her  captains. 

"  Ha !  must  we  fly,  then !"  they  demanded. 

"  No,  surely ;  but  there  will  be  need  to  ride  boldly ; 


JOAN  OF   ARC,  THE   MAID   OF   ORLEANS.  127 

we  shall  give  a  good  account  of  the  English,  and  our 
spurs  will  serve  us  famously  in  pursuing  them." 

The  French  attacked,  by  order  of  Jouri. 

"  In  the  name  of  God,  we  must  fight,"  she  said. 
"Though  the  English  were  suspended  from  the 
clouds,  we  should  have  them,  for  God  has  sent  us  to 
punish  them.  The  gentle  king  shall  have  to-day  the 
greatest  victory  he  has  ever  had;  my  counsel  has 
told  me  that  they  are  ours." 

Her  voices  counselled  well.  The  battle  was  short, 
the  victory  decisive.  The  English  were  put  to  flight ; 
Lord  Talbot,  their  leader,  was  taken. 

"  Lord  Talbot,  this  is  not  what  you  expected  this 
morning,"  said  the  Duke  d'Alen^on. 

"  It  is  the  fortune  of  war,"  answered  Talbot,  ^ooily. 

Joan  returned  to  the  king  and  demanded  that 
they  should  march  instantly  for  Eboims.  He  hesi 
tated  still.  His  counsellers  advised  delay.  The  im 
patient  Maid  left  the  court  and  sought  the  army. 
She  was  mistress  of  the  situation.  The  king  and  his 
court  were  obliged  to  follow  her.  On  June  29  the 
army,  about  twelve  thousand  strong,  began  the 
march  to  Eheims. 

There  were  obstacles  on  the  road,  but  all  gave 
way  before  her.  The  strong  town  of  Troyes,  garri 
soned  by  English  and  Burgundians,  made  a  show  of 
resistance;  but  when  her  banner  was  displayed,  and 
the  assault  began,  she  being  at  the  head  of  the  troops, 
the  garrison  lost  heart  and  surrendered.  On  went 
the  army,  all  opposition  vanishing.  On  the  16th  of 
July,  King  Charles  entered  Eheims.  The  corona 
tion  was  fixed  for  the  following  day.  "  Make  good 


128  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

use  of  my  time,"  Joan  repeated  to  the  king,  "for  I 
shall  hardly  last  longer  than  a  year." 

In  less  than  three  months  she  had  driven  the 
English  from  before  Orleans,  captured  from  them 
city  after  city,  raised  the  sinking  cause  of  France 
into  a  hopeful  state,  and  now  had  brought  the  prince 
to  be  crowned  in  that  august  cathedral  which  had 
witnessed  the  coronation  of  so  many  kings.  On  the 
17th  the  ceremony  took  place  with  much  grandeur 
and  solemnity.  Joan  rode  utftween  Dunois  and  the 
Archbishop  of  Eheims,  while  the  air  rang  with  the 
acclamations  of  the  immense  throng. 

"  I  have  accomplished  that  which  my  Lord  com 
manded  me  to  do,"  said  Joan,  "  to  raise  the  siege  of 
Orleans  and  have  the  gentle  king  crowned.  I  should 
like  it  well  if  it  should  please  Him  to  send  me  back 
to  my  father  and  mother,  to  keep  their  sheep  and 
their  cattle  and  do  that  which  was  my  wont." 

It  would  have  been  well  for  her  if  she  had  done 
so,  for  her  future  career  was  one  of  failure  and  mis 
fortune.  She  kept  in  arms,  perhaps  at  the  king's 
desire,  perhaps  at  her  own.  In  September  she  at 
tacked  Paris,  and  was  defeated,  she  herself  being 
pierced  through  the  thigh  with  an  arrow.  It  was 
her  first  repulse.  During  the  winter  we  hear  little 
of  her.  Her  family  was  ennobled  by  royal  decree, 
and  the  district  of  Domremy  made  free  from  all  tax 
or  tribute.  In  the  spring  the  enemy  attacked  Com- 
piegne.  Joan  threw  herself  into  the  town  to  save 
it.  She  had  not  been  there  many  hours  when,  in  a 
sortie,  the  French  were  repulsed.  Joan  and  some  of 
her  followers  remained  outside  fighting,  while  the 


JOAN   0#  ARC,  THE   MAID   OP   ORLEANS.  129 

drawbridge  was  raised  and  the  portcullis  dropped 
by  the  frightened  commandant.  The  Burgundians 
crowded  around  her.  Twenty  of  them  surrounded 
her  horse.  One,  a  Picard  archer,  "a  tough  fellow 
and  mighty  sour,"  seized  her  and  flung  her  to  the 
ground.  She  was  a  prisoner  in  their  hards. 

The  remaining  history  of  Joan  of  Arc  presents  a 
striking  picture  of  the  superstition  of  the  age.  It  is 
beyond  our  purpose  to  give  it.  It  will  suffice  to  say 
that  she  was  tried  by  the  English  as  a  sorceress, 
dealt  with  unfairly  in  every  particular,  and  in  the 
end,  on  May  30,  1431,  was  burned  at  the  stake. 
Even  as  the  flames  rose  she  affirmed  that  the  voices 
which  she  had  obeyed  came  from  God.  Her  voice 
was  raised  in  prayer  as  death  approached,  the  last 
word  heard  from  her  lips  being  "  Jesus !" 

"Would  that  my  soul  were  where  I  believe  the 
soul  of  that  woman  is !"  cried  two  of  her  judges,  on 
seeing  her  die. 

And  Tressart,  secretary  to  Henry  VI.  of  England, 
said,  on  his  return  from  the  place  of  execution,  "  "We 
are  all  lost ;  we  have  burned  a  saint  I" 

A  saint  she  was,  an  inspired  one  She  died,  but 
Prance  was  saved. 


THE  CAREER   OF  A  KNIGHT- 
ERRANT. 

MEDIAEVAL  history  would  be  of  greatly  reduced 
interest  but  for  its  sprightly  stories  of  knights  and 
their  doings.  In  those  days  when  men,  "  clad  in 
complete  steel,"  did  their  fighting  with  spear,  sword, 
and  battle-axe,  and  were  so  enamoured  of  hard 
blows  and  blood-letting  that  in  the  intervals  of  war 
they  spent  their  time  seeking  combat  and  adventure, 
much  more  of  the  startling  and  romantic  naturally 
came  to  pass  than  can  be  looked  for  in  these  days 
of  the  tyranny  of  commerce  and  the  dominion 
of  "villanous  saltpetre."  This  was  the  more  so 
from  the  fact  that  enchanters,  magicians,  demons, 
dragons,  and  all  that  uncanny  brood  made  knight 
hood  often  no  sinecure,  and  men's  haunting  super 
stitions  were  frequently  more  troublesome  to  them 
than  their  armed  enemies.  But  with  this  misbegotten 
crew  we  have  nothing  to  do.  They  belong  to  legend 
and  fiction,  not  to  history,  and  it  is  with  the  latter 
alone  that  we  are  concerned.  But  as  more  than  one 
example  has  been  given  of  how  knights  bore  them 
selves  in  battle,  it  behooves  us  to  tell  something  of 
the  doings  of  a  knight-errant,  one  of  those  worthy 
fellows  who  went  abroad  to  prove  their  prowess  in 
130 


THE   CAREER   OF   A   KNIGHT-ERRANT.  131 

single  combat,  and  win  glory  in  the  tournament  at 
spear's  point. 

Such  a  knight  was  Jacques  de  Lelaing,  "  the  good 
knight  without  fear  and  without  doubt,"  as  his 
chroniclers  entitle  him,  a  Burgundian  by  birth,  born 
in  the  chateau  of  Lelaing  early  in  the  fifteenth  cen 
tury.  Jacques  was  well  brought  up  for  a  knight. 
Literature  was  cultivated  in  Burgundy  in  those  days, 
and  the  boy  was  taught  the  arts  of  reading  and 
writing,  the  accomplishments  of  French  and  Latin, 
and  in  his  later  life  he  employed  the  pen  as  well  as 
the  sword,  and  did  literary  work  of  which  specimens 
still  survive. 

In  warlike  sports  he  excelled.  He  was  still  but  a 
youth  when  the  nephew  of  Philip  the  Good  of  Bur 
gundy  (Philip  the  Bad  would  have  hit  the  mark 
more  nearly)  carried  him  off  to  his  uncle's  court  to 
graduate  in  knighthood.  The  young  adventurer 
sought  the  court  of  Philip  well  equipped  for  his  new 
duties,  his  father,  William  de  Lelaing,  having  fur 
nished  him  with  four  fine  horses,  a  skilful  groom, 
and  a  no  less  skilful  valet ;  and  also  with  some  good 
advice,  to  the  effect  that,  "  Inasmuch  as  you  are  more 
noble  than  others  by  birth,  so  should  you  be  more 
noble  than  they  by  virtues,"  adding  that,  "  few  great 
men  have  gained  renown  for  £  prowess  and  virtue  who 
did  not  entertain  love  for  some  dame  or  damoiselle." 

The  latter  part  of  the  advice  the  youthful  squire 
seemed  well  inclined  to  accept.  He  was  handsome, 
gallant,  bold,  and  eloquent,  and  quickly  became  a 
favorite  with  the  fair  sex.  Nor  was  he  long  in  gain 
ing  an  opportunity  to  try  his  hand  in  battle,  a 


132  HISTORICAL   TALES, 

squabble  having  arisen  between  Philip  and  a  neigh 
boring  prince.  This  at  an  end,  our  hero,  stirred  by 
his  "errant  disposition,"  left  Philip's  court,  eager, 
doubtless,  to  win  his  spurs  by  dint  of  battle-axe  and 
blows  of  blade, 

In  1445  he  appeared  at  Nancy,  then  occupied  by 
the  French  court,  which  had  escorted  thither  Mar 
garet  of  Anjou,  who  was  to  be  taken  to  England  as 
bride  to  Henry  VI.  The  occasion  was  celebrated  by 
festivals,  of  which  a  tournament  was  the  principal 
feature,  and  here  the  Burgundian  squire,  piqued  at 
some  disparaging  remarks  of  the  French  knights, 
rode  into  the  lists  and  declared  his  purpose  to  hold 
them  against  all  comers,  challenging  the  best  knight 
there  to  unhorse  him  if  he  could. 

The  boastful  squire  was  richly  adorned  for  the 
occasion,  having  already  made  friends  among  the 
ladies  of  the  court,  and  wearing  favors  and  jewels 
received  at  the  hands  of  some  of  the  fairest  there. 
Nor  was  his  boast  an  empty  one.  Not  a  man  who 
faced  him  was  able  to  hurl  him  from  the  saddle, 
while  many  of  them  left  the  lists  with  bruised  bodies 
or  broken  bones. 

"  What  manner  of  man  will  this  be,"  said  the  on 
lookers,  "  who  as  a  boy  is  so  firm  of  seat  and  strong 
of  hand?" 

At  the  banquet  which  followed  Jacques  was  as 
fresh  and  gay  as  if  newly  risen  from  sleep,  and  his 
conquests  among  the  ladies  were  as  many  as  he  had 
won  among  the  knights.  That  night  he  went  to  his 
couch  the  owner  of  a  valuable  diamond  given  him 
by  the  Duchess  of  Orleans,  and  of  a  ring  set  with  a 


THE  CAREER  OF  A  KNIGHT  ERRANT.      133 

precious  ruby,  the  gift  of  the  Duchess  of  Calabria. 
Yerily,  the  squire  of  Burgundy  had  made  his  mark. 

The  end  of  the  year  found  our  bold  squire  in  Ant 
werp.  Here,  in  the  cathedral  of  Notre  Dame,  he 
met  an  arrogant  Sicilian  knight  named  Bonifazio, 
whose  insolent  bearing  annoyed  him.  The  Sicilian 
wore  on  his  left  leg  a  golden  fetter-ring  fastened  by 
a  chain  of  gold  to  a  circlet  above  his  knee,  while  his 
shield  bore  the  defiant  motto,  "Who  has  fair  lady, 
let  him  look  to  her  well." 

Jacques  looked  at  the  swaggering  fellow,  liked  his 
bearing  but  little,  and  touched  his  shield  by  way  of 
challenge,  saying,  "  Thine  is  an  impertinent  device." 

"  And  thou  art  but  a  sorry  squire,  though  with 
assurance  enough  for  a  tried  knight,"  answered  the 
Sicilian. 

"  That  is  to  prove,"  said  Jacques,  defiantly.  "  If 
my  master,  Duke  Philip,  will  give  me  leave  to  fight, 
thou  durst  not  deny  me,  being,  as  we  are,  on  his 
Grace's  territory." 

Bonifazio  accepted  the  challenge,  and  as  the  duke 
gave  consent,  a  battle  between  squire  and  knight  was 
arranged,  Ghent  being  the  chosen  place  of  combat. 

Two  days  it  lasted,  the  first  day's  fight  being  a  sort 
of  horseback  prelude  to  the  main  comtat.  In  this 
the  squire  bore  himself  so  well  against  his  ex 
perienced  antagonist,  that  Duke  Philip  judged  he 
had  fairly  won  his  spurs,  and  on  the  next  day  he 
was  formally  made  a  knight,  with  the  accolade  and 
its  attendant  ceremonies. 

This  day  the  work  displayed  worthily  followed  the 
promising  preface.  After  a  preliminary  bout  with 
12 


134  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

spears,  the  combatants  seized  their  battle-axes,  and 
hewed  at  each  other  with  the  vigor  of  two  woodmen 
felling  a  mighty  oak.  The  edges  of  the  axes  being 
spoiled,  the  knights  drew  their  well- tempered  swords 
and  renewed  the  combat  with  the  lustihood  of  the 
heroes  of  the  Eound  Table,  fighting  so  fiercely  that 
it  was  not  easy  to  follow  the  gleam  of  the  swift- 
flashing  blades.  In  the  end  the  Burgundian  proved 
himself  more  than  a  match  for  the  Sicilian,  driving 
him  back,  hewing  rents  in  his  armor,  and  threatening 
him  with  speedy  death.  At  this  stage  of  the  affray 
Duke  Philip,  at  the  request  of  the  Duke  of  Orleans, 
flung  his  truncheon  into  the  lists  and  ended  the  fight, 
in  time  to  save  the  Sicilian  knight. 

His  signal  victory  won  Sir  Jacques  much  fame. 
His  antagonist  was  a  man  of  mark,  and  the  Bur 
gundian  knight  gained  from  his  prowess  the  appel 
lation  of  "  The  Good  Knight,"  which  he  maintained 
throughout  his  career.  He  now  determined  to  take 
up  the  profession  of  knight-errant,  travelling  from 
court  to  court,  and  winning  smiles  and  fame  wherever 
lists  were  set  up  or  men  of  prowess  could  be  found. 
But  first  he  sought  his  home  and  the  approval  of 
his  parents. 

"  Go  on  thy  way,  with  God's  blessing,"  said  his 
stout  sire,  who  had  cracked  skulls  in  his  day  and 
was  proud  of  his  doughty  son. 

"  Yes,  go  on  thy  way,  Jacques,"  said  his  mother  in 
milder  tone,  and  with  moist  eyes.  "  I  have  put  a 
healing  ointment  in  thy  valise,  that  will  cure  bruises. 
If  thou  shouldst  break  a  bone,  Heaven  send  thee  a 
skilful  surgeon." 


THE   CAREER   OF   A   KNIGHT-ERRANT.  135 

Into  France  rode  Sir  Jacques,  well  mounted,  and 
with  squire  and  page  in  his  train,  in  search  of  ad 
ventures  and  opponents,  eager  for  fame  and  profit. 
From  his  left  arm,  fastened  by  a  chain  of  gold,  hung 
a  splendid  helmet,  which  he  offered  as  a  prize  to  any 
knight  who  could  overcome  him  in  single  combat.  To 
this  he  added  a  diamond,  which  he  agreed  to  present 
to  any  lady  whom  his  victor  should  name.  Whoever 
should  first  drop  his  axe  in  the  combat  was  to  bestow 
a  bracelet  on  his  opponent.  To  this  Jacques  added  a 
singular  stipulation,  significant  of  queer  doings  in 
those  days,  that  neither  knight  should  be  fastened  to 
his  saddle.  For  all  else,  he  put  his  trust  in  God  and 
his  own  right  arm,  and  in  the  aid  that  came  to  him 
from  the  love  of  "  the  fair  lady  who  had  more  power 
over  him  than  aught  besides  throughout  the  entire 
world." 

Thus  prepared  and  thus  defying,  Sir  Jacques  rode 
through  Paris  and  the  other  cities  of  France  without 
meeting  a  knight  ready  to  accept  his  challenge. 
This  was  due  to  the  king,  however,  rather  than  to 
his  knights ;  Charles  VII.  had  forbidden  any  of  his 
chevaliers  to  fight  the  bold  Burgundian,  the  fame  of 
whose  strength  and  prowess  was  already  wide-spread. 
Through  southern  France,  then  in  the  hands  of  the 
English,  rode  our  hero,  with  the  same  fortune. 
Many  were  ready  to  meet  him  at  the  board,  none  in 
the  field.  Into  Spain  he  passed  on,  still  without  an 
adversary,  and  sore  in  temper  despite  his  pride  in  his 
reputation. 

At  last,  in  the  realm  of  the  Dons,  he  found  a  knight 
ready  to  break  lances  with  him  in  the  field,  out  of 


136  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

pure  duty  to  his  "  much  loved  lady,"  as  he  affirmed. 
This  was  Don  Diego  de  Guzman,  grand  master  of 
Calafcrava,  whom  he  met  on  the  borders  of  Castile, 
and  who  at  once  accepted  his  challenge.  Yet  single 
combat  in  those  days  was  not  quite  the  easy  affair 
we  might  imagine  it,  if  we  judged  from  fiction  and 
legend.  Before  a  knight  could  indulge  in  mortal 
affray  he  was  obliged  to  obtain  the  consent  of  his 
sovereign,  provided  that  peace  ruled  between  his 
country  and  that  of  his  antagonist,  as  was  the  case 
between  Spain  and  Burgundy.  The  king  of  Spain 
was  absent.  An  answer  could  not  be  had  imme 
diately.  While  awaiting  it,  Sir  Jacques  rode  into 
Portugal,  followed  by  a  splendid  retinue,  and  offered 
an  open  challenge  to  the  knights  of  that  kingdom  to 
take  the  field  against  him. 

His  ride  was  almost  a  royal  procession.  The  story 
of  his  one  combat  seemed  to  have  gained  Jacques 
world- wide  fame.  From  the  frontier  to  Lisbon  he 
was  met  with  a  continuous  ovation,  and  in  the  capi 
tal,  where  a  ball  was  given  in  his  honor,  he  was  in 
vited  to  open  the  dance  with  the  queen  for  partner. 
And  so  it  went, — an  abundance  of  merry-making, 
unlimited  feasting  and  dancing,  but  no  fighting.  Sir 
Jacques  grew  melancholy.  He  pleaded  with  King 
Alphonso. 

"I  have  had  a  turn  in  the  dance  with  your 
queen,"  he  said  ;  "  now  let  me  have  a  tourney  with 
your  knights." 

"  Burgundy  is  my  good  friend,"  answered  the  king, 
"  and  Heaven  forbid  that  a  knight  from  that  court 
should  be  roughly  treated  by  any  knights  of  mine.  " 


THE   CAREER   OF  A   KNIGHT-ERRANT.  137 

"  By  all  the  saints,  I  defy  the  best  of  them !'  cried 
the  irate  knight. 

"And  so  let  it  rest,"  said  Alphonso,  placably. 
"  Eide  back  to  Castile,  and  do  thy  worst  upon  Guz 
man's  hard  head  and  strong  ribs." 

There  being  nothing  better  to  do,  Jacques  com 
plied,  and  made  his  way  to  Yalladolid,  having 
learned  that  the  king  of  Spain  had  graciously  con 
sented  to  the  combat.  The  3d  of  February,  1447, 
was  the  day  which  had  been  fixed  for  the  battle  be 
tween  the  two  knights,  "  for  the  grace  of  God  and 
the  love  of  their  ladies,"  and  on  the  advent  of  that 
day  the  city  named  was  so  crowded  with  sport-loving 
Spaniards  that  its  streets  were  barely  passable.  A 
great  day  in  the  history  of  knight-errantry  was  prom 
ised,  and  gentles  and  simples,  lords  and  ladies  alike, 
were  anxious  to  see  the  spectacle. 

When  the  morning  of  the  eventful  day  dawned 
all  was  bustle  and  excitement  in  Yalladolid,  and  mul 
titudes  gathered  at  the  lists.  The  JBurgundian  was 
on  the  ground  and  ready  by  ten  o'clock,  but  it  was 
three  before  Don  Guzman  appeared,  and  then  he 
came  armed  with  an  axe  so  portentously  long  in  the 
handle  that  the  Spanish  umpires  themselves,  anxious 
as  they  were  for  his  success,  forbade  its  use.  Yet 
the  truculent  Don  gave  them  no  small  trouble  before 
he  would  consent  to  choose  another.  This  done,  the 
knights  were  conducted  to  their  tents,  which  they 
were  not  to  leave  till  the  clarions  had  thrice  sounded 
the  signal  of  battle. 

Don  Guzman,  however,  proved  inconveniently 
brave  and  eager.  At  the  first  trumpet  blast  out  he 


138  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

sprang,  and  muttered  fiercely  when  ordered  back. 
The  second  blast  brought  him  out  again,  and  this 
time  the  king  himself  sent  him  back  "  with  an  ugly 
word."  The  third  blast  sounded.  Out  now  flew  both 
combatants.  Battle-axe  in  hand,  they  made  at  each 
other,  and  soon  the  ring  of  axe  on  helmet  delighted 
the  ardent  souls  of  the  thousands  of  lookers-on.  At 
length,  Diego's  axe  was  hurled  from  his  hand. 
Jacques,  with  knightly  courtesy,  threw  down  his,  and 
an  interval  of  wrestling  for  the  mastery  followed. 
Then  they  drew  their  swords,  and  assailed  each  other 
with  undiminished  fierceness.  What  might  have 
been  the  result  it  is  not  easy  to  say;  Sir  Jacques  had 
no  carpet  knight  to  deal  with  in  Don  Diego  ;  but  the 
king  ended  the  business  by  throwing  his  truncheon 
into  the  lists,  and  refusing  permission  to  the  combat 
ants  to  finish  their  fight  on  horseback,  as  they  wished. 
They  thereupon  shook  hands,  while  the  air  rang  with 
the  shouts  of  the  spectators. 

In  the  end  Don  Guzman  behaved  well.  He  praised 
the  skill  and  courage  of  his  antagonist,  and  presented 
him  with  an  Andalusian  horse,  covered  with  rich 
trappings.  In  this  Jacques  was  not  to  be  outdone. 
He  sent  the  Don  a  charger  of  great  beauty  and  value, 
whose  coverings  were  of  blue  velvet  embroidered  in 
gold,  and  the  saddle  of  violet  velvet.  Banquets  and 
balls  followed  the  combat;  the  combatants  were 
feasted  to  their  hearts'  content ;  and  Sir  Jacques  at 
length  left  the  court  of  Spain  loaded  with  presents 
and  covered  with  honor. 

And  now  the  "good  knight"  turned  his  steps 
homeward,  challenging  all  champions  as  he  went, 


THE   CAREER   OF   A   KNIGHT-ERRANT.  139 

but  without  finding  an  opponent.  Feasting  he  found 
in  abundance;  but  no  fighting.  Stopping  at  Mont- 
pelier,  he  became  the  guest  of  Jacques  Cceur,  silver 
smith  and  banker  to  Charles  VII.  His  worthy  host 
offered  him  money  freely,  and  engaged  to  redeem 
any  valuables  which  the  wandering  knight  might 
have  found  it  necessary  to  pawn.  Sir  Jacques 
thanked  him,  but  said, — 

"  My  good  master,  the  Duke  of  Burgundy,  pro 
vides  all  that  is  necessary  for  me,  and  allows  me  to 
want  for  nothing." 

Soon  after,  our  errant  knight  reached  Philip's  court, 
where  he  was  received  with  the  highest  honors. 
Then  to  his  paternal  castle  he  wended  his  way,  to 
be  welcomed  by  his  proud  parents  as  gladly  as  if  he 
had  won  the  Holy  Grail.  Dancing  and  rejoicing  fol 
lowed,  in  which  all  the  neighboring  noble  families 
participated,  and  many  a  fair  damsel  shed  her  smiles 
— in  vain  it  seems — on  the  famous  and  heart-whole 
knight. 

We  next  hear  of  Jacques  de  Lelaing  in  1449.  In 
that  year  the  herald  Charolais  made  his  advent  at 
the  Scottish  court,  bearing  a  challenge  from  the 
Burgundian  knight  to  the  whole  clan  of  the  Doug 
lases.  James  Douglas  accepted  the  challenge,  and 
Sir  Jacques  appeared  in  due  time  at  Stirling,  where 
a  battle  took  place  in  which  the  Burgundian  again 
came  off  victor.  From  Scotland  Jacques  sought 
England,  but  failed  to  find  in  that  kingdom  any 
knight  willing  to  accept  his  challenge.  Yet  he  had 
but  fairly  got  home  again  when  an  English  knight, 
Sir  Thomas  Karr  by  name,  appeared  at  the  court  of 


140  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

Philip  the  Good,  and  challenged  Jacques  de  Lelaing 
to  combat  for  the  honor  of  old  England. 

As  may  well  be  imagined,  this  challenge  was  speed 
ily  accepted,  the  lists  being  set  in  a  field  near  Bruges. 
The  English  knight  was  the  heavier,  but  Jacques 
was  the  favorite,  for  once  again  he  was  fighting  on 
his  native  soil.  Fierce  was  the  combat.  It  ended  in 
the  Burgundian's  favor.  Karr  struck  him  a  blow  on 
the  arm  with  his  battle-axe  which  rendered  that  arm 
useless,  it  being  paralyzed  or  broken.  But  the  valiant 
Jacques  dropped  his  axe,  closed  with  his  foe,  and 
with  the  aid  of  his  one  arm  flung  him  to  the  ground, 
falling  upon  him.  This  ended  the  combat,  the  Bur- 
gundian  being  pronounced  victor.  But  as  he  had 
been  the  first  to  drop  his  battle-axe,  he  presented 
Sir  Thomas  with  a  rich  diamond,  as  he  had  agreed 
in  his  challenge. 

Jacques  had  been  sorely  hurt.  His  wound  took  a 
long  time  to  heal.  "When  his  arm  had  grown  strong 
again  he  repaired  to  Chalons,  where  he  opened  a 
tournament  of  his  own,  in  which  he  held  the  lists 
against  all  comers.  This  was  in  fulfilment  of  a  vow 
which  he  had  made  that  he  would  appear  in  the 
closed  lists  thirty  times  before  the  completion  of  his 
thirtieth  year.  Much  fighting  was  done,  much  blood 
spilt,  and  much  honor  gained  by  Sir  Jacques.  We 
cannot  tell  all  that  took  place,  but  the  noble  tourna 
ment  at  Chalons  was  long  afterwards  the  talk  of  the 
country-side. 

As  for  Sir  Jacques,  he  was  now  at  the  height  of 
fame,  and  Philip  the  Good,  to  do  him  the  highest 
honor  in  his  power,  created  him  a  knight  of  he  illus- 


THE  CAREER   OF  A  KNIGHT-ERRANT.  141 

trious  order  of  the  Golden  Fleece.  Of  his  single 
combats  afterwards  we  shall  but  speak  of  one  fought 
at  Brussels,  in  honor  of  the  son  of  the  Duke  of  Bur 
gundy,  then  eighteen  years  old.  Jacques  de  Lelaing 
was  selected  to  tilt  with  the  young  count, — doubtless 
with  the  idea  that  he  could  be  trusted  not  to  harm 
him.  In  the  first  course  that  was  run  the  count 
shattered  his  spear  against  the  shield  of  Jacques, 
who  raised  his  own  weapon  and  passed  without  touch 
ing  his  adversary.  This  complaisance  displeased  the 
duke,  who  sent  word  to  the  knight  that  if  he  pro 
posed  to  play  with  his  adversary  he  had  better  with 
draw  at  once.  They  ran  again.  This  time  both 
splintered  their  spears,  and  both  kept  their  seats, 
much  to  the  delight  of  Duke  Philip. 

On  the  next  day  the  grand  tourney  came  off.  To 
behold  it  there  were  present  no  less  than  two  hun 
dred  and  twenty-five  princes,  barons,  knights,  and 
squires.  That  day  the  youthful  Count  de  Charolais 
acquitted  himself  nobly,  breaking  eighteen  spears,— 
and  possibly  some  bones  of  his  antagonists.  He  car 
ried  off  the  prize,  which  was  bestowed  upon  him  by 
the  ladies  of  his  father's  court,  and  Duke  Philip 
gloried  in  the  prowess  of  his  son. 

With  that  tournament  ended  the  record  of  the 
single  combats  of  Jacques  de  Lelaing.  War  followed, 
the  duke  and  his  robber  barons  fighting  against  the 
rich  cities  of  Belgium,  and  spoiling  many  of  them. 
In  these  wars  Sir  Jacques  took  part.  At  length,  in 
June,  1453,  siege  was  being  made  against  the  Chateau 
de  Pouckes,  a  stronghold  against  whose  walls  the 
Burgundians  plied  a  great  piece  of  artillery,  an  arm 


142  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

which  was  then  only  fairly  coming  into  use.  Behind 
this  stood  Sir  Jacques,  with  a  number  of  other  nobles, 
to  watch  the  effect  of  the  shot.  Just  then  came  whiz 
zing  through  the  air  a  stone  bullet,  shot  from  a  eul- 
verin  on  the  walls  of  the  castle,  the  artillerist  being 
a  young  man  of  Ghent,  son  of  Henry  the  Blindman. 
This  stone  struck  Sir  Jacques  on  the  forehead  and 
carried  away  the  upper  half  of  his  head,  stretching 
him  dead  on  the  field.  He  was  yet  a  young  man 
when  death  thus  came  to  him.  Only  eight  years  be 
fore  he  had  made  his  first  appearance  in  the  lists,  at 
Nancy. 

Philip  the  Good  was  infuriated  when  he  heard  of 
the  loss  of  his  favorite  knight.  He  vowed  that  when 
the  Chateau  was  taken  every  soul  in  it  should  be 
hung  from  the  walls.  He  kept  his  word,  too,  with  a 
few  exceptions,  these  being  some  priests,  a  leprous 
soldier,  and  a  couple  of  boys.  One  of  these  lads  made 
his  way  in  all  haste  to  Ghent,  and  not  until  well  out 
of  reach  of  the  good  Philip  did  he  reveal  the  truth, 
that  it  was  his  hand  which  had  fired  the  fatal  shot. 

And  so  ended  the  life  of  our  worthy  knight-errant, 
the  prize-fighter  of  an  earlier  day  than  ours,  the 
main  difference  between  past  and  present  being  that 
his  combats  were  fought  with  battle-axe  and  sword 
instead  of  fists,  and  that  his  backers  were  princes,  his 
admirers  high-born  ladies,  instead  of  the  low-lived 
class  of  bruisers  who  now  support  such  knightly  ex 
hibitions.  Four  centuries  and  more  have  passed 
since  the  days  of  Sir  Jacques.  It  is  to  be  hoped  that 
long  before  another  century  has  passed,  there  will  be 
an  end  of  all  single  combats  in  civilized  lands. 


LOUIS  XI. 


LOUIS    THE   POLITIC  AND 
CHARLES  THE  BOLD. 

IN  tho  latter  half  of  the  fifteenth  century  Europe 
had  two  notable  sovereigns,  Louis  XI.  of  France  and 
Charles  the  Bold,  or  Charles  the  Eash,  of  Burgundy ; 
the  one  famous  in  history  for  his  intricate  policy,  the 
other  for  his  lack  of  anything  that  could  fairly  be 
called  policy.  The  relations  between  these  two  men 
ranged  from  open  hostility  to  a  peace  of  the  most 
fragile  character.  The  policy  of  Louis  was  of  the 
kind  that  was  as  likely  to  get  him  into  trouble  as 
out  of  it.  The  rashness  and  headstrong  temper  of 
Charles  were  equally  likely  to  bring  trouble  in  their 
train.  In  all  things  the  two  formed  a  strongly  con 
trasted  pair,  and  their  adjoining  realms  could  hardly 
hope  for  lasting  peace  while  these  men  lived. 

The  hand  of  Charles  was  ever  on  his  sword.  TVith 
him  the  blow  quickly  followed  the  word  or  the 
thought.  The  hand  of  Louis — "  the  universal  spi 
der,"  as  his  contemporaries  named  him — was  ever 
on  the  web  of  intrigue  which  he  had  woven  around 
him,  feeling  its  filaments,  and  keeping  himself  in 
touch  with  every  movement  of  his  foes.  He  did 
not  like  war.  That  was  too  direct  a  means  of  gain 
ing  his  ends.  It  was  his  delight  to  defeat  his  ene- 

143 


144  HISTORICAL  TALES 

mies  by  combinations  of  state  policy,  to  play  off  one 
against  another,  and  by  incessant  intrigue  to  gain 
those  ends  which  other  men  gained  by  hard  blows. 

Yet  it  is  possible  for  a  schemer  to  overdo  himself, 
for  one  who  trusts  to  his  plots  and  his  policy  to 
defeat  himself  by  the  very  neatness  and  intricacy 
of  his  combinations,  and  so  it  proved  on  one  occa 
sion  in  the  dealings  between  these  two  men.  The 
incident  which  we  propose  to  relate  forms  the  sub 
ject  of  "  Quentin  Durward,"  one  of  the  best-known 
novels  by  Sir  Walter  Scott,  and  is  worth  telling  for 
itself  without  the  allurements  of  romance. 

"  Louis  had  a  great  idea  of  the  influence  he  gained 
over  people  by  his  wits  and  his  language,"  says  one 
of  his  biographers.  "  He  was  always  convinced  that 
people  never  said  what  ought  to  be  said,  and  that 
they  did  not  set  to  work  the  right  way."  He  liked 
to  owe  success  to  himself  alone,  and  had  an  inordi 
nate  opinion  of  his  power  both  of  convincing  and 
of  deceiving  people.  In  consequence,  during  one  of 
his  periods  of  strained  relations  with  Charles  of 
Burgundy,  which  his  agents  found  it  impossible  to 
settle,  this  royal  schemer  determined  to  visit  Charles 
in  person,  and  try  the  effect  on  his  opponent  of  the 
powers  of  persuasion  of  which  he  was  so  proud. 

It  was  as  rash  a  project  as  Charles  himself  could 
have  been  guilty  of.  The  fox  was  about  to  trust 
himself  in  the  den  of  the  angry  lion.  But  Louis 
persisted,  despite  the  persuasions  of  his  councillors, 
sent  to  Charles  for  a  letter  of  safe-conduct,  and 
under  its  assurance  sought  the  Duke  of  Burgundy 
in  his  fortified  town  of  Peronne,  having  with  him  as 


LOUIS  THE   POLITIC  AND  CHARLES   THE   BOLD.      145 

escort  only  fourscore  of  his  Scotch  guard  and  sixty 
men-at-arms. 

It  was  a  mad  movement,  and  led  to  consequences 
of  which  Louis  had  not  dreamed.  Charles  received 
him  civilly  enough.  Between  rash  duke  and  politic 
king  there  was  every  show  of  amity.  But  the  nego 
tiations  went  on  no  more  rapidly  now  than  they  had 
done  before.  And  soon  came  news  which  proved 
that  Louis  the  schemer  had,  for  once  at  least,  played 
the  fool,  and  put  himself  in  a  position  of  the  utmost 
danger. 

The  policy  of  the  royal  spider  had  been  stretched 
too  far.  His  webs  of  plot  had  unluckily  crossed. 
In  truth,  shortly  before  coming  to  Peronne,  he  had 
sent  two  secret  agents  to  the  town  of  Liege,  to  stir 
the  unruly  citizens  up  to  rebellion  against  the  duke. 
Quite  forgetting  this  trifle  of  treachery,  the  too- 
hasty  plotter  had  sought  the  duke's  stronghold  with 
the  hope  of  placating  him  with  well-concocted  lies 
and  a  smooth  tongue.  Unluckily  for  him,  his  agents 
did  not  forget  their  orders. 

The  Liegoise  broke  out  into  rebellion,  under  the 
insidious  advice  of  the  French  king's  agents,  ad 
vanced  and  took  the  town  of  Tongres,  killed  some 
few  people,  and  made  prisoner  there  the  bishop  of 
Liege  and  the  lord  of  Humbercourt.  The  fugitives 
who  brought  this  news  to  Peronne  made  the  matter 
even  worse  than  this,  reporting  that  the  bishop  and 
lord  had  probably  been  killed.  Charles  believed 
them,  and  broke  into  a  fury  that  augured  badly  for 
his  guest. 

"  So  the  king  came  here  only  to  deceive  roe !"  he 
in.— a  k  13 


146  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

burst  out.  "  It  is  he  who  by  his  ambassadors  ex 
cited  these  bad  folks  of  Liege !  By  St.  George,  they 
shall  be  severely  punished  for  it,  and  he  himself 
shall  have  cause  to  repent.'' 

The  measures  taken  by  the  incensed  duke  were 
certainly  threatening.  The  gates  of  the  town  and 
castle  were  closed  and  guarded  by  archers.  Louis 
was  to  all  intents  and  purposes  a  prisoner,  though 
the  duke,  a  little  ashamed,  perhaps,  of  his  action, 
affirmed  that  his  purpose  was  to  recover  a  box  of 
gold  and  jewels  that  had  been  stolen  from  him. 

The  den  of  the  lion  had  closed  on  the  fox.  JS"ow 
was  the  time  for  the  fox  to  show  his  boasted  wit,  for 
his  position  was  one  of  danger.  That  rash-headed 
Duke  of  Burgundy  was  never  the  man  to  be  played 
with,  and  in  his  rage  was  as  perilous  as  dynamite. 
It  was,  in  truth,  an  occasion  fitted  to  draw  out  all 
the  quickness  and  shrewdness  of  mind  of  Louis, 
those  faculties  on  which  he  prided  himself!  To  gain 
friends  in  the  castle  he  bribed  the  household  of  the 
duke.  As  for  himself  he  remained  quiet  and  appar 
ently  easy  and  unsuspicious,  while  alertly  watchful 
to  avail  himself  of  any  opportunity  to  escape  from 
the  trap  into  which  he  had  brought  himself.  During 
the  two  days  that  succeeded,  the  rage  of  Charles 
cooled  somewhat.  Louis  had  oifered  to  swear  a 
peace,  to  aid  Charles  in  punishing  the  Liegoise  for 
their  rebellion,  and  to  leave  hostages  for  his  good 
faith.  This  the  angry  duke  at  first  would  not  listen 
to.  He  talked  of  keeping  Louis  a  prisoner,  and  send 
ing  for  Prince  Charles,  his  brother,  to  take  on  him 
self  the  government  of  France.  The  messenger  was 


LOUIS   THE   POLITIC  AND  CHARLES   THE   BOLD.      147 

ready  for  this  errand ;  his  horse  in  the  court-yard ; 
the  letters  written.  But  the  duke's  councillors  begged 
him  to  reflect.  Louis  had  come  under  his  safe-con 
duct.  His  honor  was  involved.  Such  an  act  would 
be  an  eternal  reproach  to  Burgundy.  Charles  did 
reflect,  and  slowly  began  to  relent.  He  had  heard 
again  from  Liege.  The  affair  was  not  so  bad  as  he 
had  been  told.  The  bishop  and  lord  had  been  set 
free.  The  violent  storm  in  the  duke's  mind  began  to 
subside. 

Early  in  the  next  day  the  irate  duke  entered  the 
chamber  of  the  castle  in  which  he  held  his  royal 
guest  a  prisoner.  The  storm  had  fallen,  but  the 
waves  still  ran  high.  There  was  courtesy  in  his  looks, 
but  his  voice  trembled  with  anger.  The  words  that 
came  from  his  lips  were  brief  and  bitter ;  there  was 
threat  in  his  manner ;  Louis  looked  at  him  with  more 
confidence  than  he  felt. 

"  Brother,"  he  said,  "  I  am  safe,  am  I  not,  in  your 
house  and  your  country  ?" 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  duke,  with  an  effort  at  self- 
repression  ;  "  so  safe  that  if  I  saw  an  arrow  from  a 
bow  coming  towards  you  I  would  throw  myself  in 
the  way  to  protect  you.  But  will  you  not  be  pleased 
to  swear  to  the  treaty  just  as  it  is  written  ?" 

"  Yes,  and  I  thank  you  for  your  good-will/'  said 
Louis,  heartily. 

"And  will  you  not  be  pleased  to  come  with  me 
to  Liege  to  help  me  punish  the  treason  committed 
against  me  by  these  Liegoise,  all  through  you  and 
your  journey  hither?  The  bishop  is  your  near  rela 
tive,  of  the  house  of  Bourbon." 


148  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

"Yes,  Paques-Dieu !"  replied  Louis;  "and  I  am 
much  astounded  by  their  wickedness.  But  let  us 
begin  by  swearing  this  treaty ;  and  then  I  will  start 
with  as  many  or  as  few  of  my  people  as  you  please." 

"  My  brother,  the  fox,  is  over- willing,"  may  have 
been  the  thought  that  passed  through  the  duke's 
mind.  "  He  is  ready  to  lose  his  foot  to  get  his  body 
out  of  the  trap." 

But  whatever  his  thoughts,  in  action  he  took 
prompt  measures  to  bind  the  slippery  king  to  his 
promise.  From  Louis's  boxes  was  produced  the  cross 
of  St.  Laud,  claimed  to  be  made  of  the  wood  of  the 
true  cross,  and  so  named  because  it  was  usually  kept 
in  the  church  of  St.  Laud,  at  Angers.  It  was  said 
to  have  belonged  to  Charlemagne,  and  Louis  regarded 
tt  as  the  most  sacred  of  relics.  On  this  the  king 
swore  to  observe  the  treaty,  though  it  contained 
clauses  to  which  he  would  not  have  assented  under 
other  circumstances.  The  document  was  immediately 
signed.  Louis,  for  the  first  moment  since  learning 
of  his  almost  fatal  blunder,  breathed  at  ease.  As 
for  the  second  part  of  his  promise,  that  of  help 
ing  Charles  to  punish  the  townsmen  whom  he  had 
himself  stirred  to  "ebellion,  it  little  troubled  his  con 
science — or  the  spot  in  his  anatomy  where  a  con 
science  would  have  been  located  if  he  had  possessed 
such  an  encumbrance. 

On  the  day  after  the  signing  of  the  treaty  the  two 
princes  set  out  together.  Charles  was  followed  by 
his  army,  Louis  by  his  modest  body-guard,  which 
had  been  augmented  by  three  hundred  men-at-arms, 
just  arrived  from  France.  On  the  27th  of  Octobet 


LOUIS   THE   POLITIC  AND   CHARLES   THE   BOLD.      149 

[1468]  they  arrived  at  the  rebellious  city.  Thero 
seemed  no  trouble  to  get  into  it.  No  wall  or  ditch 
surrounded  it.  The  duke  had  previously  deprived  it 
of  these  obstacles  to  his  armies.  But  an  obstacle 
remained  in  the  people,  who  could  not  easily  be 
brought  to  believe  that  the  king  of  France  and  the 
Duke  of  Burgundy,  those  fire-  and  water-like  poten 
tates,  were  true  allies.  The  thing  seemed  impossible. 
Louis  was  their  friend,  and  would  certainly  strike  for 
them.  They  made  a  sortie  from  the  city,  shouting, 
"  Hurrah  for  the  king !  Hurrah  for  France !" 

To  their  consternation,  they  saw  Louis  and  Duke 
Charles  together  at  the  head  of  the  advancing  army, 
the  king  wearing  in  his  hat  the  cross  of  St.  Andrew 
of  Burgundy,  his  false  voice  shouting  "  Hurrah  for 
Burgundy !" 

The  surprise  of  the  Liegoise  was  shared  by  many 
of  the  French,  whose  sense  of  national  honor  was 
shocked  to  see  so  utter  a  lack  of  pride  and  so  open  a 
display  of  treachery  in  their  monarch.  They  had 
not  deemed  his  boasted  policy  capable  of  such  base 
ness.  Louis  afterwards  excused  himself  with  the 
remark,  "  When  pride  rides  before,  shame  and  hurt 
follow  close  after,"  a  saying  very  pretty  as  a  politic 
apothegm,  but  not  likely  to  soothe  the  wounded  pride 
of  France. 

The  treachery  of  Louis  roused  a  different  feeling 
in  the  hearts  of  the  Liegoise, — that  of  indignation. 
They  determined  to  defend  their  city,  despite  its  lack 
of  ramparts,  and  met  the  advancing  army  with  such 
spirit  that  it  was  obliged  to  convert  its  assault  into  a 
siege.  Night  after  night  the  Burgundian  army  was 
13* 


150  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

troubled  by  the  bold  sorties  of  the  citizens  In  one 
of  these  the  duke  and  king  both  were  in  danger  of 
capture.  At  ten  o'clock,  one  night,  about  six  hun 
dred  well-armed  men  made  a  sudden  assault  upon 
the  duke's  quarters.  They  were  ill-defended.  Charles 
was  in  bed.  Only  twelve  archers  were  on  guard,  and 
these  were  playing  at  dice.  The  assault  came  with 
startling  suddenness.  The  archers  seized  their  arms, 
but  had  great  difficulty  in  defending  the  door- way. 
Charles  hastened  to  put  on  breastplate  and  helmet 
and  to  join  them.  But  only  the  opportune  arrival 
of  aid  saved  him  from  being  seized  in  the  midst  of 
his  army. 

Louis  ran  a  similar  danger.  His  quarters  had 
simultaneously  been  attacked.  Luckily  for  him,  his 
Scotch  guardsmen  were  more  ready  than  those  of 
Burgundy.  They  repulsed  the  attack,  with  little 
heed  whether  their  arrows  killed  hostile  Liegoise  or 
friendly  Burgundians.  As  for  the  assailants,  they 
found  it  easier  to  get  into  the  French  camp  than 
out  of  it.  They  were  killed  almost  to  a  man. 

On  the  next  day  the  duke  and  his  councillors  de 
termined  on  an  assault.  The  king  was  not  present, 
and  when  he  heard  of  it  he  did  not  favor  the  plan. 

"  You  have  seen  the  courage  of  these  people,"  he 
remarked.  "You  know  how  murderous  and  un 
certain  is  street-fighting.  You  will  lose  many  brave 
men  to  no  purpose.  Wait  two  or  three  days,  and 
the  Liegoise  will  certainly  come  to  terms." 

Most  of  the  Burgundian  captains  were  of  the  same 
opinion.  The  duke,  whose  rash  spirit  could  ill  brook 
opposition,  grew  angry. 


LOUIS   THE   POLITIC  AND  CHARLES   THE   BOLD.      151 

"  He  wishes  to  spare  the  Liegoise,"  he  angrily  ex 
claimed.  "What  danger  is  there  in  this  assault? 
There  are  no  walls  ;  they  cannot  put  a  single  gun  in 
position  j  I  certainly  will  not  give  up  the  assault.  If 
the  king  is  afraid,  let  him  get  him  gone  to  Namur." 

This  insult  to  the  king,  which  shocked  the  Bur- 
gundians  themselves,  was  repeated  to  him,  and  re 
ceived  in  silence.  He  had  made  up  his  mind  to  drain 
the  cup  of  humiliation  to  the  dregs.  The  next  day, 
October  30,  the  assault  was  made,  Charles  at  the 
head  of  his  troops.  Louis  came  up  to  join  him. 

"  Bide  your  time,"  said  Charles.  "  Put  not  your 
self  uselessly  in  danger.  I  will  send  you  word  when 
it  is  time." 

"Lead  on,  brother,"  answered  Louis.  "You  are 
the  most  fortunate  prince  alive ;  I  will  follow  you." 

On  they  marched — into,  as  it  proved,  an  undefended 
city.  The  Liegoise  had  been  discouraged  by  the  fall 
of  many  of  their  bravest  men.  It  was  Sunday ;  no 
attack  was  looked  for ;  "  the  cloth  was  laid  in  every 
house,  and  all  were  preparing  for  dinner ;"  the  Bur- 
gun  dians  moved  through  empty  streets,  Louis  fol 
lowing  with  his  own  escort,  and  shouting,  "  Hurrah 
for  Burgundy!" 

By  mid-day  the  vengeance  of  Charles  was  com 
plete  ;  the  town  had  been  pillaged ;  there  was  noth 
ing  left  to  take  in  house  or  church ;  many  a  floor 
was  stained  with  blood;  Liege  for  the  time  was 
ruined. 

As  for  the  arch-deceiver  to  whom  all  this  was  due, 
he  completed  his  work  of  baseness  by  loading  the 
duke  with  praises,  his  tone  and  manner  so  courteous 


152  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

and  amiable  that  Charles  lost  the  last  shreds  of  his 
recent  anger. 

"  Brother,"  said  the  king  the  next  day,  "  if  you 
still  need  my  help,  do  not  spare  me.  But  if  you 
have  nothing  more  for  me  to  do,  it  would  be  well  for 
me  to  go  back  to  Paris,  to  make  public  in  my  court 
of  parliament  the  arrangement  we  have  come  to 
together;  otherwise  it  would  risk  becoming  of  no 
avail.  You  know  that  such  is  the  custom  of  France. 
Next  summer  we  must  meet  again.  You  will  come 
into  your  duchy  of  Burgundy,  and  I  will  go  and 
pay  you  a  visit,  and  we  will  pass  a  week  joyously 
together  in  making  good  cheer." 

It  may  be  that  this  smooth  speech  was  aecompa- 
nied  by  a  mental  commentary, — "  Let  me  once  get 
from  under  your  claws,  my  playful  tiger,  and  I  will 
not  be  fool  enough  to  put  myself  back  there  again," 
— but  if  so  nothing  of  the  kind  appeared  on  his  face. 

Charles  made  no  answer.  He  sent  for  the  treaty, 
and  left  it  to  the  king  to  confirm  or  renounce  it,  as 
he  would.  Louis  expressed  himself  as  fully  satisfied 
with  its  terms,  and  on  the  next  day,  November  2, 
set  out  on  his  return  to  France.  Charles  kept  him 
company  for  some  distance.  On  parting,  the  king 
said, — 

"  If  my  brother  Charles,  who  is  in  Brittany,  should 
not  be  content  with  the  assignment  which  I,  for  love 
of  you,  have  made  him,  what  would  you  have  me 
do?" 

"  If  he  do  not  please  to  take  it,  but  would  have 
you  otherwise  satisfy  him,  I  leave  that  to  the  two 
of  you  to  settle,"  said  Charles. 


LOUIS   THE   POLITIC  AND  CHARLES   THE   BOLD.      153 

With  these  words  he  turned  back,  leaving  Louis 
to  pursue  his  way  free  once  more,  "  after  having 
passed  the  most  trying  three  weeks  of  his  life." 

That  the  fox  kept  faith  with  the  lion,  or  the  lion 
with  the  fox,  is  not  to  be  looked  for.  New  disputes 
broke  out,  new  battles  were  fought, — not  now  in 
alliance, — and  the  happiest  day  in  the  life  of  Louis 
XL  was  that  in  which  he  heard  that  Charles  of 
Burgundy,  the  constant  thorn  in  his  chaplet,  had 
fallen  on  the  fatal  field  of  Nancy,  and  that  France 
was  freed  from  the  threatening  presence  of  the  bold 
and  passionate  duke. 


CHARLES  THE  BOLD  AND    THE 
SWISS. 

ON  the  6th  of  February,  1476,  Duke  Charles  of 
Burgundy  marched  from  Besangon  to  take  the  field 
against  the  Swiss,  between  whom  and  Burgundy 
hostilities  had  broken  out.  There  were  three  par 
ties  to  this  war,  Louis  XI.  being  the  third.  That 
politic  monarch  had  covertly  stirred  up  the  Swiss  to 
their  hostile  attitude,  promised  them  aid  in  money,  if 
not  in  men,  and  now  had  his  secret  agents  in  both 
camps,  and  kept  himself  in  readiness  to  take  advan 
tage  of  every  circumstance  that  might  be  turned  to 
his  own  benefit.  Leaving  Tours,  he  went  to  Lyons, 
that  he  might  be  within  easy  distance  of  the  seat  of 
war.  And  not  long  had  he  been  there  before  news 
of  the  most  gratifying  character  came  to  his  ears. 
Duke  Charles  had  met  the  foe,  and — but  we  antici 
pate. 

The  army  of  Burgundy  was  a  powerful  one,  having 
not  less  than  thirty  or  forty  thousand  men  and  a 
strong  train  of  artillery.  It  was  followed,  as  was 
Charles's  fashion  in  making  war,  with  an  immense 
baggage-train.  Personally  his  habits  were  simple 
and  careless,  but  he  loved  to  display  his  riches  and 
magnificence,  and  made  his  marches  and  encamp- 
164= 


CHARLES   THE   BOLD   AND   THE   SWISS.  155 

merits  as  much  scenes  of  festival  as  of  war.  What 
this  showy  duke  wanted  from  their  poor  cities  and 
barren  country  the  Swiss  could  not  very  well  see. 
"The  spurs  and  the  horses'  bits  in  his  army  are 
worth  more  money  than  the  whole  of  us  could  pay 
in  ransom  if  we  were  all  taken,"  they  said. 

Without  regard  to  this,  Charles  marched  on,  and 
on  February  19  reached  Granson,  a  little  town  in 
the  district  of  Yaud.  Here  fighting  had  taken  place, 
and  hither  soon  came  the  Swiss  battalions.  Power 
ful  fellows  they  were,  bold  and  sturdy,  and  animated 
with  the  highest  spirit  of  freedom.  On  they  marched, 
timing  their  long  strides  to  the  lowings  of  the  "  bull 
of  Uri"  and  the  "  cow  of  Unterwalden,"  two  great 
trumpets  of  buffalo  horn  which,  as  was  claimed, 
Charlemagne  had  given  to  their  ancestors. 

Against  these  compact  battalions,  armed  with 
spears  eighteen  feet  long,  the  squadrons  of  Bur 
gundy  rode  in  vain.  Their  lines  were  impregnable. 
Their  enemies  fell  in  numbers.  In  the  end  the  whole 
Burgundian  army,  seized  with  panic,  broke  and  fled, 
"  like  smoke  before  the  northern  blast." 

So  sudden  and  complete  was  the  defeat  that 
Charles  himself  had  to  take  to  flight  with  only  five 
horsemen  for  escort,  and  with  such  haste  that  every 
thing  was  left  in  the  hands  of  the  foe, — camp,  artil 
lery,  treasure,  the  duke's  personal  jewels,  even  his 
very  cap  with  its  garniture  of  precious  stones  and 
his  collar  of  the  Golden  Fleece. 

The  Swiss  were  as  ignorant  of  the  value  of  their 
booty  as  they  were  astonished  at  the  completeness 
of  their  victory.  Jewels,  gold,  silver,  rich  hangings, 


15t)  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

precious  tapestry,  had  little  value  in  their  eyes. 
They  sold  the  silver  plate  for  a  few  pence,  taking 
it  for  pewter.  The  silks  and  velvets  found  in  the 
baggage- wagon  s  of  the  duke,  the  rich  cloth  of  gold 
and  damask,  the  precious  Flanders  lace  and  Arras 
carpets,  were  cut  in  pieces  and  distributed  among 
the  peasant  soldiers  as  if  they  had  been  so  much 
common  canvas.  Most  notable  of  all  was  the  fate 
of  the  great  diamond  of  the  duke,  which  had  once 
glittered  in  the  crown  of  the  Great  Mogul,  and  was 
of  inestimable  value.  This  prize  was  found  on  the 
road,  inside  a  little  box  set  with  fine  pearls.  The 
man  who  picked  it  up  thought  the  box  pretty  and 
worth  keeping,  but  saw  no  use  for  that  bit  of  shining 
glass  inside.  He  threw  this  contemptuously  away. 
Afterwards  he  thought  it  might  be  worth  something, 
to  be  so  carefully  kept,  and  went  back  to  look  for  it. 
He  found  it  under  a  wagon,  and  sold  it  to  a  clergy 
man  in  the  neighborhood  for  a  crown.  This  precious 
stone,  one  of  the  few  great  diamonds  in  the  world 
is  now  in  the  possession  of  the  Emperor  of  Austria, 
its  value  enhanced  to  him,  it  may  be,  by  its  strange 
history. 

There  was  only  one  thing  in  this  event  that  did 
not  please  Louis  XI., — that  Charles  had  left  the  field 
alive.  He  sent  him  advice,  indeed,  to  let  those  poor 
folks  but  hard  fighters  of  the  Alps  alone,  well  con 
vinced  that  the  fiery  duke  would  not  take  his  coun 
sel.  In  truth,  Charles,  mad  with  rage,  ordered  that 
all  the  soldiers  who  had  fled  from  the  field  should  be 
put  to  death,  and  that  the  new  recruits  to  be  raised 
should  be  dealt  with  in  the  same  manner  if  they  did 


CHARLES   THE   BOLD   AND   THE   SWISS.  157 

not  march  to  his  camp  with  all  haste.  It  cannot  be 
said  that  this  insane  command  was  obeyed,  but  so 
intense  was  his  energy,  and  so  fierce  his  rage  against 
the  Swiss,  that  in  no  great  time  he  had  a  fresh  army, 
of  from  twenty -five  to  thirty  thousand  men,  com 
posed  of  Burgundians,  Flemings,  Italians,  and  Eng 
lish. 

Late  in  May  he  was  again  on  the  march, — with 
much  less  parade  and  display  than  before, — and  on 
the  10th  of  June  pitched  his  camp  before  the  little 
town  of  Morat,  six  leagues  from  Berne. 

Everywhere  as  he  went  he  left  word  that  it  was 
war  to  the  death  on  which  he  was  bent.  His  pride 
had  been  bitterly  wounded.  He  vowed  to  heal  it  in 
the  blood  of  his  foes. 

The  Swiss  were  preparing  with  all  haste,  and  ad 
vancing  to  Berne.  The  governor  of  Morat  sent  them 
word  to  be  at  ease  concerning  him.  "  I  will  defend 
Morat,"  he  said,  and  to  garrison  and  people  he  swore 
that  he  would  hang  the  first  who  spoke  of  surrender. 
For  ten  days  he  had  held  out  against  Charles's  whole 
army,  while  his  countrymen  were  gathering. 

The  men  of  Zurich  were  the  last  to  reach  Berne. 
On  the  21st  of  June,  in  the  evening,  the  Swiss  en 
camped  near  their  foes. 

"  Have  those  hounds  lost  heart,  pray  ?"  the  duke 
had  just  said ;  "  I  was  told  that  we  were  about  to 
get  at  them." 

His  wish  was  to  be  gratified  in  a  way  he  had  not 

meant ;  they  were  about  to  get  at  him.     The  next 

day,  June  22,  opened  with  a  pelting  rain,     Later, 

the  sun  burst  through  the  clouds.     With  its  first 

14 


158  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

beams  the  Swiss  were  in  motion,  marching  on  the 
camp  of  their  foes. 

A  man-at-arms  hurried  to  the  duke's  tent,  and  told 
him  that  the  Swiss  were  coming,  and  that  they  had 
attacked  the  lines.  He  declared  the  story  was  a  lie, 
and  drove  the  messenger  with  an  insulting  reproof 
from  his  tent.  "What,  these  base  peasants  ?  To  at 
tack  his  army  ?  The  thing  was  incredible  !  For  all 
that,  he  left  the  tent  and  hurried  to  the  point  indi 
cated.  It  was  true,  they  had  attacked,  and  were 
already  driving  back  his  men. 

Charles  rallied  them  as  he  best  could.  The  battle 
was  desperate.  All  the  remainder  of  the  day  it 
continued.  But  before  nightfall  the  Swiss  were 
everywhere  victorious,  the  Burgundians  everywhere 
beaten.  Charles  had  still  three  thousand  horsemen, 
but  they,  too,  broke  before  the  fierce  charges  of  the 
Swiss,  and  in  the  end  he  escaped  with  difficulty, 
having  but  a  dozen  men  at  his  back,  and  leaving 
eight  or  ten  thousand  of  his  soldiers  dead  on  the 
field,  the  greater  part  of  them  killed  after  the  fight 
by  the  relentlessly  furious  Swiss. 

Charles,  obstinate,  furious,  wild  with  rage,  sought 
to  collect  another  army,  but  failed.  No  men  could 
be  found  willing  to  bear  arms  against  those  terrible 
Swiss.  He  shut  himself  up  for  weeks  in  one  of  his 
castles,  dismayed,  inconsolable,  heated  with  passion, 
ready  to  crush  the  world  if  his  hand  could  have 
grasped  it,  a  sorry  spectacle  of  disappointed  ambi 
tion  and  overthrown  pride. 

Other  enemies  rose  against  him.  Rene  II.,  duke 
of  Lorraine,  whom  he  had  robbed  of  his  dominions 


CHARLES  THE  BOLD  AND  THE  SWISS.     159 

and  driven  from  Nancy,  now  saw  an  opportunity  to 
recover  his  heritage.  He  had  been  wandering  like  a 
fugitive  from  court  to  court.  Before  Morat  he  had 
joined  the  Swiss,  and  helped  them  to  their  victory. 
Now,  gathering  a  force,  he  re-entered  his  duchy,  be 
sieged  Nancy,  then  feebly  garrisoned,  and  pressed 
it  hard.  The  governor  sent  messengers  to  Duke 
Charles,  asking  for  aid.  He  received  none.  The 
duke  did  not  even  reply  to  him.  He  seemed  utterly 
dispirited.  In  this  emergency  the  governor  surren 
dered,  and  Eene  had  his  own  again. 

Yet  at  that  very  moment,  Charles  the  Bold,  throw 
ing  off  his  apathy,  was  marching  upon  Lorraine,  with 
&  small  army  which  he  had  hastily  collected.  On  the 
22d  of  October,  1476,  he  reached  Nancy,  which  was 
once  more  besieged.  At  his  approach,  Duke  Eene 
left  the  town,  but  left  it  well  garrisoned.  He  went 
in  search  of  reinforcements.  These  he  found  in 
Switzerland,  the  agents  of  Louis  XI.  promising  them 
good  pay,  while  their  hatred  of  Charles  made  them 
fully  ready  for  the  service. 

On  January  4, 1477,  Eene,  having  led  his  new  army 
to  Lorraine,  found  himself  face  to  face  with  the  army 
of  Charles  the  Bold,  who  was  still  besieging  Nancy. 
Charles  held  council  with  his  captains. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  since  these  drunken  scoundrels 
are  upon  us,  and  are  coming  here  to  look  for  meat 
and  drink,  what  ought  we  to  do  ?" 

"  Fall  back,"  was  the  general  opinion.  "  They  out 
number  us.  We  should  recruit  our  army.  Duke 
Eene  is  poor.  He  will  not  long  be  able  to  bear  the 
expense  of  the  war,  and  his  allies  will  leave  him  aft 


160  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

soon  as  bis  money  is  gone.  Wait  but  a  little,  and 
success  is  certain." 

Tbe  duke  burst  into  one  of  his  usual  fits  of  pas 
sion. 

"  My  father  and  I,"  he  cried,  "  knew  how  to  thrash 
these  Lorrainers,  and  we  will  make  them  remember 
it.  Ey  St.  George,  I  will  not  fly  before  a  boy,  before 
Eene  of  Yaudemont,  who  is  coming  at  the  head  of 
this  scum !  He  has  not  so  many  men  with  him  as 
people  think ;  the  Germans  have  no  idea  of  leaving 
their  stoves  in  winter.  This  evening  we  will  deliver 
the  assault  against  the  town,  and  to-morrow  we  will 
give  battle." 

He  did  give  battle  on  the  morrow, — his  last,  as  it 
proved.  The  fray  did  not  last  long,  nor  was  the  loss 
of  life  in  the  field  great.  But  the  Burgundians  broke 
and  fled,  and  the  pursuit  was  terrible,  the  Lorrainers 
and  their  Swiss  and  German  allies  pursuing  hotly, 
and  killing  all  they  found.  Eene  entered  Nancy  in 
triumph,  and  relieved  the  citizens  from  the  famine 
from  which  they  bad  long  suffered.  To  show  him 
what  they  had  endured  in  his  cause,  there  were  piled 
up  before  his  door  "  the  heads  of  the  horses,  dogs, 
mules,  cats,  and  other  unclean  animals  which  had  for 
several  weeks  past  been  the  only  food  of  the  be 
sieged." 

The  battle  over,  the  question  arose,  what  had  be 
come  of  the  Duke  of  Burgundy  ?  None  could  an 
swer.  Some  said  a  servant  had  carried  him  wounded 
from  the  field ;  others,  that  a  German  lord  held  him 
prisoner.  But  a  page  soon  appeared  who  said  he  had 
seen  him  fall  and  could  lead  to  the  spot.  He  did  so, 


CHARLES   THE   BOLD   AND   THE   SWISS,  161 

conducting  a  party  to  a  pond  near  the  town,  where, 
half  buried  in  the  mud,  lay  several  dead  bodies  lately 
stripped.  Among  the  searchers  was  a  poor  washer 
woman,  who,  seeing  the  glitter  of  a  ring  on  the  finger 
of  one  of  the  corpses,  turned  it  over,  and  cried,  "Ah ! 
my  prince !" 

All  rushed  to  the  spot.  The  body  was  examined 
with  care.  There  was  no  doubt,  it  was  that  of 
Charles  of  Burgundy.  His  rash  and  violent  disposi 
tion  had  at  length  borne  the  fruit  that  might  have 
been  anticipated,  and  brought  him  to  an  end  which 
gave  the  highest  satisfaction  to  many  of  his  foes,  and 
to  none  more  than  to  Louis  XI.  of  France.  He  was 
buried  with  great  pomp,  by  the  order  of  Duke  Eene. 
In  1550  the  emperor  Charles  V.,  his  great  grandson, 
had  his  body  taken  to  Bruges,  and  placed  on  the 
tomb  the  following  inscription  : 

"  Here  lieth  the  most  high,  mighty,  and  magnani 
mous  prince,  Charles,  Duke  of  Burgundy,  .  .  .  the 
which,  being  mightily  endowed  with  strength,  firm 
ness,  and  magnanimity,  prospered  awhile  in  high  en 
terprises,  battles,  and  victories,  as  well  at  Montlhery, 
in  Normandy,  in  Artois,  and  in  Liege,  as  elsewhere, 
until  fortune,  turning  her  back  on  him,  thus  crushed 
him  before  Nancy." 

To-day  it  might  be  written  on  his  tomb,  "  His  was 
a  fitting  end  to  a  violent,  lawless,  and  blood-thirsty 
career." 


m.— I  14* 


BAYARD,  THE  GOOD  KNIGHT. 

GOOD  knights  were  abundant  in  the  romance  of 
the  age  of  chivalry ;  they  were  almost  absent  from 
its  history.  Of  knights  without  fear  there  were 
many;  of  knights  "without  fear  and  withou'  re 
proach"  there  was  but  one,  Pierre  du  Terrail,  Cheva 
lier  de  Bayard,  "  Le  chevalier  sans  peur  et  sans  re- 
proche"  Many  are  the  stories  of  the  courage,  the 
justice,  the  honor,  the  mercy,  the  intrepidity  in  war, 
the  humanity  and  kindliness  of  spirit  in  peace,  which 
make  this  admirable  character  an  anomaly  in  that 
age  of  courteous  appearance  and  brutal  reality  yclept 
the  "  age  of  chivalry."  One  such  story  we  have  to 
tell. 

The  town  of  Brescia  had  been  taken  by  the  French 
army  under  Gaston  de  Foix,  and  given  up  to  pillage 
by  his  troops,  with  all  the  horrors  which  this  meant 
in  that  day  of  license  and  inhumanity.  Bayard  took 
part  in  the  assault  on  the  town,  and  was  wounded 
therein,  so  severely  that  he  said  to  his  fellow-captain, 
the  lord  of  Molart, — 

"  Comrade,  march  your  men  forward ;  the  town  is 
ours.  As  for  me,  I  cannot  pull  on  farther,  for  I  am 
a  dead  man." 

Not  quite  dead,  as  it  proved.  He  had  many  years 
162 


BAYARD,  THE    GOOD   KNIGHT.  163 

of  noble  deeds  before  him  still.  When  the  town  was 
taken,  two  of  his  archers  bore  him  to  a  house  whose 
size  and  show  of  importance  attracted  them  as  a  fair 
harbor  for  their  lord.  It  was  the  residence  of  a  rich 
citizen,  who  bad  fled  for  safety  to  a  monastery,  leav 
ing  his  wife  to  God's  care  in  the  house,  and  two  fair 
daughters  to  such  security  as  they  could  gain  from 
the  hay  in  a  granary,  under  which  they  were  hidden. 

At  the  loud  summons  of  the  archers  the  lady  trem 
blingly  opened  the  door,  and  was  surprised  and  re 
lieved  when  she  saw  that  it  was  a  wounded  knight 
who  craved  admittance.  Sadly  hurt  as  Bayard  was, 
his  instinct  of  kindness  remained  active.  He  bade 
the  archers  to  close  the  door  and  remain  there  on 
guard. 

"  Take  heed,  for  your  lives,"  he  said,  "  that  none 
enter  here  unless  they  be  some  of  my  own  people. 
I  am  sure  that,  when  this  is  known  to  be  my  quar 
ters,  none  will  try  to  force  a  way  in.  If,  by  your 
aiding  me,  you  miss  a  chance  of  gain  in  the  sack  of 
the  town,  let  not  that  trouble  you;  you  shall  lose 
nothing  by  your  service." 

The  archers  obeyed,  and  the  wounded  knight  was 
borne  to  a  rich  chamber,  the  lady  herself  showing 
the  way.  When  he  had  been  laid  in  bed,  she  threw 
herself  on  her  knees  before  him,  and  pleadingly 
said, — 

"  Noble  sir,  I  present  you  this  house  and  all  that 
is  therein,  all  of  which,  in  truth,  I  well  know  to  bo 
yours  by  right  of  war.  But  I  earnestly  pray  that  it 
be  your  pleasure  to  spare  me  and  my  two  young 
daughters  our  lives  and  honor." 


164  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

"  Madam,"  answered  the  knight,  with  grave  coin 
tesy,  "  I  know  not  if  I  can  escape  from  my  wound ; 
but,  so  long  as  I  live,  trust  me  that  no  harm  shall 
come  to  you  and  your  daughters,  any  more  than  to 
myself.  Only  keep  them  in  their  chambers ;  let 
them  not  be  seen ;  and  I  assure  you  that  no  man  in 
the  house  will  take  upon  himself  to  enter  any  place 
against  your  will." 

These  words  the  lady  heard  with  joy,  and  on 
Bayard's  request  that  he  should  have  a  good  surgeon 
without  delay,  she  and  one  of  the  archers  set  out  in 
quest  of  the  best  that  could  be  found.  Fortunately, 
it  proved  that  the  knight's  wound,  though  deep,  was 
not  mortal.  At  the  second  dressing  Master  Claude, 
the  surgeon  of  Gaston  de  Foix,  took  him  in  hand, 
and  afterwards  attended  him  assiduously  until  his 
wound  was  healed,  a  process  which  took  about  a 
month.  After  the  first  dressing  of  the  wound,  Bay 
ard  asked  his  hostess,  in  kindly  tones,  where  her 
husband  was. 

"  I  know  not,  my  lord,  if  he  be  dead  or  alive,"  she 
answered,  bursting  into  tears.  "  If  he  be  living,  I 
am  sure  he  has  taken  refuge  in  a  monastery  where 
he  is  well  known." 

"Let  him  return  home,"  answered  Bayard.  "I 
shall  send  those  after  him  who  will  see  that  he  has  no 
harm." 

The  lady,  elate  with  hope,  sent  to  inquire,  and 
found  that  her  husband  was  really  where  she  had 
supposed.  Bayard's  steward  and  the  two  archers 
were  sent  for  him,  and  conducted  him  safely  through 
the  turmoil  of  the  streets,  where  war's  ravage,  in  its 


BAYARD,  THE   GOOD   KNIGHT.  165 

worst  form,  was  still  afoot.  On  his  arrival,  the  knight 
received  him  with  a  courteous  welcome,  and  bade 
him  not  to  be  alarmed,  as  only  friends  were  quartered 
upon  him,  and  he  should  suffer  no  loss  in  person  or 
estate. 

For  a  month  the  wounded  knight  lay  on  his  couch, 
where,  though  he  was  made  as  comfortable  as  pos 
sible  by  the  assiduous  ministrations  of  his  grateful 
host  and  hostess,  he  suffered  much  from  his  hurt, 
At  the  end  of  that  time  he  was  able  to  rise  and  walk 
across  the  chamber,  though  still  very  weak.  But 
news  came  that  a  great  battle  between  the  French 
and  the  Spaniards  was  likely  soon  to  be  fought,  and 
the  brave  Bayard  burned  with  warlike  desire  to 
take  part  in  the  conflict. 

"  My  dear  friend,"  he  said  to  the  surgeon,  "  tell  me 
if  there  is  any  danger  in  setting  me  on  the  march. 
It  seems  to  me  that  I  am  well,  or  nearly  so ;  and,  in 
my  judgment,  to  stay  here  longer  will  do  me  more 
harm  than  good,  for  I  fret  sorely  to  be  thus  tied." 

"  Your  wound  is  not  yet  closed,"  said  the  surgeon, 
"though  it  is  quite  healed  inside.  After  another 
dressing  you  may  be  able  to  ride,  provided  that  your 
barber  attends  to  dressing  it  with  ointment  and  a 
little  lint  every  day.  The  worst  of  the  wound  is 
now  on  the  surface,  and,  as  it  will  not  touch  your 
saddle,  you  will  run  no  risk  in  riding." 

Bayard  heard  these  words  with  gladness,  and  at 
once  gave  orders  to  his  people  to  prepare  for  the 
road,  as  he  would  set  out  for  the  army  in  two  days. 

Meanwhile,  his  host  and  hostess  and  their  children 
were  far  from  well  at  ease.  Until  now  their  guest 


166  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

had  protected  and  spared  them,  but  they  knew  too 
well  the  habits  of  soldiers  to  imagine  that  he  in 
tended  to  do  this  without  being  abundantly  paid  for 
the  service.  They  held  themselves  as  his  prisoners, 
and  feared  that  he  might  yet  force  them  to  ransom 
themselves  with  the  utmost  sum  their  estate  would 
afford,  perhaps  ten  or  twelve  thousand  crowns.  Yet 
he  had  been  so  gentle  and  kindly  that  the  good  lady 
entertained  hopes  that  he  might  prove  generous,  if 
softened  by  a  suitable  present.  Therefore,  on  the 
morning  of  the  day  which  he  had  fixed  for  his  de 
parture,  she  appeared  in  his  chamber,  followed  by  a 
servant  who  carried  a  small  steel  box. 

Bayard  had  been  walking  up  and  down  the  room 
to  try  his  leg,  and  had  now  thrown  himself  into  a 
chair  to  rest.  The  lady  fell  upon  her  knees  before 
him ;  but  before  he  would  permit  her  to  speak  he 
insisted  that  she  should  rise  and  be  seated. 

"My  lord,"  she  began,  "I  can  never  be  thankful 
enough  for  the  grace  which  God  did  me,  at  the 
taking  of  this  town,  in  directing  you  to  this  our 
house.  We  owe  to  you  our  lives  and  all  that  we  hold 
dear.  Moreover,  from  the  time  that  you  arrived 
here,  neither  I  nor  the  least  of  my  people  have  en 
dured  a  single  insult,  but  all  has  been  good-will  and 
courtesy,  nor  have  your  folks  taken  a  farthing's 
worth  of  our  goods  without  paying  for  them.  I  am 
aware  that  my  husband,  myself,  my  children,  and 
all  my  household  are  your  prisoners,  to  be  dealt  with 
according  to  your  good  pleasure,  in  person  and 
goods ;  but,  knowing  the  nobleness  of  your  heart, 
I  am  come  to  entreat  you  humbly  to  have  pity  on 


BAYARD,  THE   GOOD   KNIGHT.  167 

us,  and  extend  to  us  your  wonted  generosity.  Here 
is  a  little  present  we  make  you ;  and  we  pray  that 
you  may  be  pleased  to  take  it  in  good  part." 

She  opened  the  box  which  the  servant  held,  and 
Bayard  saw  that  it  was  filled  with  golden  coins. 
The  free-hearted  knight,  who  had  never  in  his  life 
troubled  himself  about  money,  burst  out  laughing, 
and  said, — 

"Madam,  how  many  ducats  are  there  in  this 
box?" 

His  action,  so  different  from  what  she  expected, 
frightened  the  poor  woman.  Thinking  it  to  indicate 
that  the  sum  was  below  his  expectations,  she  said 
hurriedly, — 

"  My  lord,  there  are  but  two  thousand  five  hun 
dred  ducats ;  but,  if  you  are  not  content,  we  will  find 
a  larger  sum." 

"  By  my  faith,  madam,"  he  warmly  replied, 
"  though  you  should  give  me  a  hundred  thousand 
crowns,  you  would  not  do  as  well  towards  me  as  you 
have  done  by  the  good  cheer  I  have  had  here  and 
the  kind  attendance  you  have  given  me.  In  whatso 
ever  place  I  may  happen  to  be,  you  will  have,  so 
long  as  God  shall  grant  me  life,  a  gentleman  at  your 
bidding.  As  for  your  ducats,  I  will  have  none  of 
them,  and  yet  I  thank  you ;  take  them  back ;  all  my 
life  I  have  always  loved  people  much  more  than 
crowns.  And  take  my  word  for  it  that  I  go  away 
as  well  pleased  with  you  as  if  this  town  were  at 
your  disposal  and  you  had  given  it  to  me." 

The  good  lady  listened  to  him  with  deep  astonish 
ment.  Never  had  she  dreamed  of  such  a  marvel  as 


168  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

this,  a  soldier  who  did  not  crave  money.  She  was 
really  distressed  by  his  decision. 

"  My  lord,"  she  said,  "  I  shall  feel  myself  the  most 
wretched  creature  in  the  world  if  you  will  not  take 
this  small  present,  which  is  nothing  in  comparison 
with  your  past  courtesy  and  present  kindness." 

Seeing  how  firm  she  was  in  her  purpose,  he  said, 
with  a  gentle  smile, — 

"  Well,  then,  I  will  take  it  for  love  of  you  ;  but 
go  and  fetch  me  your  two  daughters,  for  I  would 
fain  bid  them  farewell." 

Much  pleased  with  his  acceptance,  the  lady  left 
the  room  in  search  of  her  daughters,  whom  the 
knight  knew  well,  for  they  had  solaced  many  of  the 
weary  hours  of  his  illness  with  pleasant  chat,  and 
music  from  their  voices  and  from  the  lute  and  spinet, 
on  which  they  played  agreeably.  While  awaiting 
them  he  bade  the  servant  to  empty  the  box  and 
count  the  ducats  into  three  lots,  two  of  a  thousand 
each  and  one  of  five  hundred. 

When  the  young  ladies  entered,  they  would  have 
fallen  on  their  knees  as  their  mother  had  done  before 
them,  but  Bayard  would  not  consent  that  they  should 
remain  in  this  humble  attitude. 

"  My  lord,"  said  the  elder,  "  these  two  poor  girls, 
who  owe  so  much  to  your  kindness,  are  come  to  take 
leave  of  you,  and  humbly  to  thank  your  lordship 
for  your  goodness,  for  which  they  can  make  no 
return  other  than  to  pray  that  God  may  hold  you  in 
His  good  care." 

"Dear  damsels/  answered  Bayard,  much  affected, 
"you  have  done  what  I  ought  to  do;  that  is,  tc 


BAYARD,  THE   GOOD   KNIGHT.  169 

thank  you  for  your  good  company,  for  which  I  am 
much  beholden.  You  know  that  fighting  men  are 
not  likely  to  be  laden  with  pretty  things  to  present 
to  ladies.  I  am  sorry  not  to  be  better  provided. 
But  here  are  some  ducats  brought  me  by  your  lady- 
mother.  Of  these  I  give  to  each  of  you  a  thousand 
towards  your  marriage ;  and  for  my  recompense  you 
shall,  if  it  please  you,  pray  God  for  me,  as  you  have 
offered." 

He  swept  the  ducats  from  the  table  into  their 
aprons,  forcing  them  to  accept  them  whether  they 
would  or  not.  Then,  turning  to  his  hostess,  he 
said, — 

u  Madam,  I  will  take  these  five  hundred  ducats 
that  remain  for  my  own  profit,  to  distribute  among 
the  poor  sisterhoods  of  this  town  which  have  been 
plundered ;  and  to  you  I  commit  the  charge  of  them, 
since  you,  better  than  any  other,  will  understand 
where  they  are  most  needed.  And  with  this  mission 
I  take  my  leave  of  you." 

Then  he  bade  them  adieu  by  touching  their  hands, 
after  the  Italian  fashion,  "  and  they  fell  upon  their 
knees,  weeping  so  bitterly  that  it  seemed  as  if  they 
were  to  be  led  out  to  their  deaths." 

The  dinner  hour  came  and  passed.  When  it  was 
over  the  knight  quickly  left  the  table  and  called  for 
his  horses,  being  eager  to  be  gone  for  fear  the  two 
armies  might  come  to  battle  in  his  absence.  As  he 
left  his  chamber  to  seek  his  horse,  the  two  fair 
daughters  of  the  house  came  down  to  bid  him  a  finiil 
farewell  and  to  make  him  presents  which  they  had 
worked  for  him  during  his  illness. 

H  15 


170  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

One  gave  him  a  pair  of  pretty  and  delicate  brace 
lets,  made  of  gold  and  silver  thread,  worked  with 
marvellous  neatness.  The  other  presented  him  a 
handsome  purse  of  crimson  satin,  very  cleverly  orna 
mented  with  the  needle.  The  knight  received  these 
graceful  gifts  with  warm  thanks,  saying  that  presents 
which  came  from  hands  so  fair  were  more  to  him 
than  a  hundred-fold  their  value  in  gold.  To  do  them 
the  more  honor,  he  put  the  bracelets  on  his  wrists 
and  the  purse  in  his  sleeve,  and  assured  them  that, 
as  long  as  they  lasted,  he  would  wear  them  for  love 
of  the  givers. 

Then,  mounting,  the  good  knight  rode  away, 
leaving  more  tears  of  joy  and  heartfelt  gratitude  be 
hind  him  than  can  be  said  of  few  soldiers  since  the 
world  began.  It  was  not  for  fame  he  had  wrought, 
or  of  fame  he  had  thought,  but  he  won  high  fame 
by  his  generous  behavior,  for  his  treatment  of  his 
Erescian  hosts  is  still  quoted  as  the  rarest  deed  in 
his  chaplet  of  good  actions. 

The  two  archers  who  had  stayed  with  Bayard 
failed  not  to  receive  the  promised  reward,  Gaston 
de  Foix,  the  Duke  of  Nemours,  sent  the  knight  a 
number  of  presents,  among  them  five  hundred 
crowns,  and  these  he  divided  between  the  archers 
whom  he  had  debarred  from  their  share  of  the 
spoil. 

It  will  suffice  to  say,  in  conclusion,  that  he  reached 
the  army  in  time  to  take  part  in  the  battle  that  fol 
lowed,  and  to  add  therein  to  his  fame  as  a  "good 
knight  without  fear." 


EPISODES  IN  THE  LIFE   OF  A 
TRAITOR. 

AT  the  early  hour  of  one  o'clock  in  the  morning 
of  September  8,  1523,  a  train  of  men-at-arms  and 
servants,  headed  by  a  tall,  stern-faced,  soldierly -look 
ing  man,  rode  from  the  gates  of  the  strong  castle  of 
Chantelle,  and  headed  southward  in  the  direction  of 
Spain.  The  leader  was  dressed  in  armor,  and  carried 
sword  by  side  and  battle-axe  at  his  saddle-bow.  Of 
his  followers,  some  fifteen  of  them  were  attired  in  a 
peculiar  manner,  wearing  thick  jackets  of  woollen 
ck>th  that  seemed  as  stiff  as  iron  mail,  and  jingled 
mf  tallieally  as  they  rode.  Mail  they  were,  capable 
of  turning  arrow  or  spear  thrust,  but  mail  of  gold, 
not  of  iron,  for  in  those  jackets  were  sewed  up  thirty 
thousand  crowns  of  gold,  and  their  wearers  served 
as  the  ambulatory  treasury  of  the  proud  soldier  at 
their  head. 

This  man  was  no  less  a  personage  than  Charles, 
Duke  of  Bourbon,  Constable  of  France,  the  highest 
personage  in  the  kingdom  next  to  the  monarch  him 
self,  but  now  in  flight  from  that  monarch,  and  from 
the  soldiers  who  were  marching  to  environ  Chantelle 
and  carry  him  as  a  prisoner  to  the  king.  There  had 

171 


172  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

been  bad  blood  between  Bourbon  and  Francis  I.t 
pride  and  haughtiness  on  the  one  side,  injustice  and 
indecision  on  the  other;  wrong  to  the  subject,  de 
fiance  to  the  king ;  and  now  the  "  short-tempered" 
noble  and  great  soldier  had  made  a  moonlight  flitting, 
bent  on  cutting  loose  from  his  allegiance  to  France, 
and  on  lending  the  aid  of  his  sword  and  military 
skill  to  her  hereditary  foes. 

For  a  month  Eourbon  and  his  followers  wandered 
around  the  provinces  of  southern  France.  Inces 
santly  he  changed  his  road,  his  costume,  his  com 
panions,  his  resting-place,  occasionally  falling  in  with 
soldiers  of  the  king  who  were  on  "t^veir  way  to  take 
part  in  the  wars  in  Italy,  seeking  in  vain  for  ad 
herents  to  his  cause,  and  feeling  his  way  by  corre 
spondence  to  an  understanding  with  the  enemies  of 
France.  In  early  October  he  entered  the  domains 
of  the  emperor,  Charles  Y.,  and  definitely  cut  loose 
from  his  allegiance  to  the  king. 

The  news  of  this  defection  filled  Francis  with 
alarm.  He  had,  by  his  injustice,  driven  his  greatest 
soldier  from  the  realm,  and  now  sought  to  undo  the 
perilous  work  he  had  done.  He  put  off  his  journey 
to  join  the  army  marching  to  Italy,  and  sent  a  mes 
senger  to  the  redoubtable  fugitive,  offering  restitution 
of  his  property,  satisfaction  in  full  of  his  claims,  and 
security  for  good  treatment  and  punctual  payment. 
Bourbon  curtly  refused. 

"  It  is  too  late,"  he  said. 

"Then,"  said  the  envoy,  "I  am  bidden  by  the 
king  to  ask  you  to  deliver  up  the  sword  of  constable 
and  the  collar  of  the  order  of  St.  Michael." 


EPISODES    IN   THE   LIFE  OF   A   TRAITOR.  173 

"You  may  tell  the  king,"  answered  Bourbon, 
shortly,  "that  he  took  from  me  the  sword  of  con 
stable  on  the  day  that  he  took  from  me  the  command 
of  the  advance  guard  to  give  it  to  M.  d'Alengon.  As 
for  the  collar  of  his  order,  you  will  find  it  at  Chan- 
telle  under  the  pillow  of  my  bed." 

Francis  made  further  efforts  to  win  back  the  pow 
erful  noble  whom  he  had  so  deeply  offended,  but 
equally  in  vain.  Bourbon  had  definitely  cut  loose 
from  his  native  land  and  was  bent  on  joining  hands 
with  its  mortal  foes.  Francis  had  offended  him  too 
deeply  to  be  so  readily  forgiven  as  he  hoped. 

It  is  not  the  story  of  the  life  of  this  notable  traitor 
that  \»  e  propose  to  tell,  but  simply  to  depict  some 
picturesque  scenes  in  his  career.  Charles  Y.  gladly 
welcomed  him,  and  made  him  his  lieutenant-general 
in  Italy,  so  that  he  became  leader  against  the  French 
in  their  invasion  of  that  land.  We  next  find  him 
during  the  siege  of  Milan  by  the  army  of  Francis  I., 
une  of  whose  leaders  was  Chevalier  Bayard,  "the 
good  knight,"  who  was  the  subject  of  our  last  story. 
The  siege  was  destined  to  prove  a  fatal  affair  for  this 
noble  warrior.  The  French  found  themselves  so 
hard  pressed  by  the  imperial  army  under  the  Con 
stable  de  Bourbon  that  they  fell  back  to  await  rein 
forcements.  Near  Eomagnano,  on  the  banks  of  the 
Sesia,  they  were  thrown  into  disorder  while  seeking 
to  pass  the  stream,  and  Bonnivet,  their  leader,  was 
severely  wounded.  The  Count  de  St.  Pol  and  Cheva 
lier  Bayard  took  command.  Bayard,  always  first  in 
advance  and  last  in  retreat,  charged  the  enemy  at 
the  head  of  a  body  of  men-at-arms.  It  proved  for 
15* 


174  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

him  *  fatal  charge.  A  shot  from  an  arquebuse  gave 
him  a  mortal  wound. 

"  Jesus,  my  God,"  he  cried,  "  I  am  dead !" 

He  took  his  sword  by  the  handle,  kissed  its  cross- 
hilt  as  an  act  of  devotion,  and  repeated  the  Miserere^ 
— "Have  pity  on  me,  O  God,  according  to  Thy  great 
mercy!" 

In  a  moment  more  he  grew  deathly  pale  and 
grasped  the  pommel  of  the  saddle  to  keep  him  from 
falling,  remaining  thus  until  one  of  his  followers 
helped  him  to  dismount,  and  placed  him  at  the  foot 
of  a  tree. 

The  French  were  repulsed,  leaving  the  wounded 
knight  within  the  lines  of  the  enemy.  Word  of 
Bayard's  plight  was  quickly  brought  to  Bourbon, 
who  came  up  with  a  face  filled  with  sympathetic 
feeling. 

"  Bayard,  my  good  friend,  I  am  sore  distressed  at 
your  mishap,"  he  said.  "  There  is  nothing  for  it  but 
patience.  Give  not  way  to  melancholy.  I  will  send 
in  quest  of  the  best  surgeons  in  this  country,  and, 
by  God's  help,  you  will  soon  be  healed." 

Bayard  looked  up  at  him  with  dying  eyes,  full  of 
pity  and  reproach. 

"  My  lord,  I  thank  you,"  he  said,  "  but  pity  is  not 
for  me,  who  die  like  a  true  man,  serving  my  king ; 
pity  is  for  you,  who  bear  arms  against  your  prince, 
your  country,  and  your  oath." 

Bourbon  made  no  answer.  He  turned  and  with 
drew,  doubtless  stung  to  the  soul  by  the  reproachful 
words  of  the  noblest  and  honestest  man  of  that 
age.  His  own  conscience  must  have  added  a  double 


EPISODES   IN   THE   LIFE  OF   A   TRAITOR.  175 

sting  to  Bayard's  words.  Such  is  the  bitterest  re 
ward  of  treason ;  it  dares  not  look  integrity  in  the 
face. 

Bayard  lived  for  two  or  three  hours  afterwards, 
surrounded  by  his  friends,  who  would  not  leave  him, 
though  he  bade  them  do  so  to  escape  falling  into  the 
enemy's  hands.  They  had  nothing  to  fear.  Both 
armies  mourned  the  loss  of  the  good  knight,  with 
equal  grief.  Five  days  after  his  death,  on  May  5, 
1524,  Beaurain  wrote  to  Charles.  V., — 

"  Sir,  albeit  Sir  Bayard  was  your  enemy's  servant, 
yet  was  it  pity  of  his  death,  for  he  was  a  gentle 
knight,  well  beloved  of  every  one,  and  one  that 
lived  as  good  a  life  as  ever  any  man  of  his  condition. 
And,  in  truth,  he  fully  showed  it  by  his  end,  for  it 
was  the  most  beautiful  that  I  ever  heard  tell  of." 

So  passed  away  the  one  man  who  lived  fully  up 
to  the  principles  of  chivalry,  and  whose  honesty, 
modesty,  sympathy,  and  valor  have  given  him  un 
dying  fame.  His  name  survives  as  an  example  of 
what  chivalry  might  have  been  had  man  been  as 
Christian  in  nature  as  in  name,  but  of  what  it  rarely 
was,  except  in  theory. 

The  next  picture  we  shall  draw  belongs  to  the  date 
of  February  24,  1525.  Francis  I.  had  for  months 
been  besieging  Pavia.  Bourbon  came  to  its  relief. 
A  battle  followed,  which  at  first  seemed  to  favor  the 
French,  but  which  Bourbon's  skill  soon  turned  in 
favor  of  the  Imperialists.  Seeing  his  ranks  breaking 
on  all  sides,  Francis,  inspired  by  fury  and  despair, 
desperately  charged  the  enemy  with  such  knights 
and  men-at-arms  as  he  could  get  to  follow  him.  The 


176  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

conflict  was  fierce  and  fatal.  Around  the  king  fell 
his  ablest  warriors, — Marshal  de  Foix,  Francis  of 
Lorraine,  Bussy  d'Amboise,  La  Tremoille,  and  many 
others.  At  sight  of  this  terrible  slaughter,  Admiral 
Bonnivet,  under  the  king  the  leader  of  the  French 
host,  exclaimed,  in  accents  of  despair,  "  I  can  never 
survive  this  fearful  havoc."  Eaising  the  visor  of  his 
helmet,  he  rushed  desperately  forward  where  a  tem 
pest  of  balls  was  sweeping  the  field,  and  in  a  moment 
fell  beside  his  slain  comrades. 

Francis  fought  on  amid  the  heaps  of  dead  and 
dying,  his  soul  filled  with  the  battle  rage,  his  heart 
burning  with  fury  and  desperation.  He  was  wounded 
in  face,  arms,  and  legs,  yet  still  his  heavy  sword 
swept  right  and  left,  still  men  fell  before  his  vigor 
ous  blows.  His  horse,  mortally  wounded,  sank  under 
him,  dragging  him  down.  In  an  instant  he  was  up 
again,  laying  about  him  shrewdly.  Two  Spaniards 
who  pressed  him  closely  fell  before  the  sweep  of 
that  great  blade.  Alone  among  his  foes  he  fought 
on,  a  crowd  of  hostile  soldiers  around  him.  Who 
he  was  they  knew  not,  but  his  size,  strength,  and 
courage,  the  golden  lilies  which  studded  his  coat  of 
mail,  the  plume  of  costly  feathers  which  waved 
from  his  helmet,  told  them  that  this  must  be  one  of 
the  greatest  men  in  the  French  array. 

Despite  the  strength  and  intrepid  valor  of  the 
king,  his  danger  was  increasing  minute  by  minute, 
when  the  Lord  of  Pomperant,  one  of  Bourbon's  in 
timate  friends,  pressed  up  through  the  mass  and 
recognized  the  warrior  who  stood  like  a  wounded 
lion  at  bay  amid  a  pack  of  wolves. 


EPISODES   IN   THE   LIFE  OF  A   TRAITOR.  177 

"  Back !  back !"  he  cried,  springing  forward,  and 
boating  off  the  soldiers  with  his  sword.  "  Leave  this 
man  to  me." 

Pressing  to  the  king's  side,  he  still  beat  back  his 
foes,  saying  to  him, — 

"  Yield,  my  liege !  You  stand  alone.  If  you  fight 
longer,  I  cannot  answer  for  your  life.  Look !  there  is 
no  hope  for  you.  The  Duke  of  Bourbon  is  not  far 
off.  Let  me  send  for  him  to  receive  your  sword." 

The  visor  of  the  king  hid  the  look  with  which  he 
must  have  received  these  words.  But  from  the  hel 
met's  iron  depths  came  in  hollow  tones  the  reply  of 
Francis  of  France  to  this  appeal. 

"  No,"  he  cried,  sternly,  "  rather  would  I  die  the 
death  than  pledge  my  faith  to  Bourbon  the  traitor! 
Where  is  the  Yiceroy  of  Naples  ?" 

Lannoy,  the  viceroy,  was  in  a  distant  part  of  the 
field.  Some  time  was  lost  in  finding  and  bringing 
him  to  the  spot.  At  length  he  arrived,  and  fell  upon 
one  knee  before  Francis,  who  presented  him  his 
sword.  Lannoy  took  it  with  a  show  of  the  profound- 
est  respect,  and  immediately  gave  him  another  in  its 
place.  The  battle  was  over,  and  the  king  of  France 
was  a  prisoner  in  the  hands  of  his  rebellious  sub 
ject,  the  Duke  of  Bourbon.  The  wheel  of  fate  had 
strangely  turned. 

The  captive  king  had  shown  himself  a  poor  gen 
eral,  but  an  heroic  soldier.  His  victors  viewed  him 
with  admiration  for  his  prowess.  When  he  sat  at 
table,  after  having  his  wounds,  which  were  slight, 
dressed,  Bourbon  approached  him  respectfully  and 
handed  him  a  dinner  napkin.  Francis  took  it,  but 


178  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

with  the  most  distant  and  curt  politeness.  The  next 
day  an  interview  took  place  between  Bourbon  and 
the  king,  in  reference  to  the  position  of  the  latter  as 
captive.  In  this  Francis  displayed  the  same  frigidity 
of  manner  as  before,  while  he  was  all  cordiality  with 
Pescara,  Bourbon's  fellow  in  command.  The  two 
leaders  claimed  Francis  as  their  own  captive,  but 
Lannoy,  to  whom  he  had  surrendered,  had  him  em 
barked  for  Naples,  and  instead  of  taking  him  there, 
sent  him  directly  to  Spain,  where  he  was  delivered 
up  to  Charles  Y.  Thus  ended  this  episode  in  the  life 
of  the  Constable  de  Bourbon. 

We  have  still  another,  and  the  closing,  scene  to 
present  in  the  life  of  this  great  soldier  and  traitor. 
It  is  of  no  less  interest  than  those  that  have  gone 
before.  Historically  it  is  of  far  deeper  interest,  for 
it  was  attended  with  a  destruction  of  inestimable 
material  that  has  rarely  been  excelled.  The  world 
is  the  poorer  that  Bourbon  lived. 

In  Spain  he  had  been  treated  with  consideration 
by  the  emperor,  but  with  disdain  by  many  of  the 
lords,  who  despised  him  as  a  traitor.  Charles  Y. 
asked  the  Marquis  de  Yillena  to  give  quarters  in  his 
palace  to  the  duke. 

"  I  can  refuse  the  emperor  nothing,"  he  replied ; 
"  but  as  soon  as  the  traitor  is  out  of  my  house  I  shall 
set  it  on  fire  with  my  own  hand.  ISTo  man  of  honor 
could  live  in  it  again." 

Despite  this  feeling,  the  military  record  of  Bour 
bon  could  not  be  set  aside.  He  was  the  greatest 
general  of  his  time,  and,  recognizing  this,  Charles 
again  placed  him  in  command  of  his  armies  in  Italy. 


EPISODES   IN   THE   LIFE   OF  A   TRAITOR.  179 

On  going  there,  Bourbon  found  that  there  was  noth 
ing  that  could  be  called  an  army.  Everything  was 
in  disorder  and  the  imperial  cause  almost  at  an  end. 
In  this  state  of  affairs,  Bourbon  became  filled  with 
hopes  of  great  conquests  and  high  fame  for  himself. 
Filled  with  the  spirit  of  adventure,  and  finding  the 
Spanish  army  devoted  to  him,  he  added  to  it  some 
fifteen  thousand  of  G-erman  lanzknechts,  most  of  them 
Lutherans. 

Addressing  this  greedy  horde  of  soldiers  of  for 
tune,  he  told  them  that  he  was  now  but  a  poor  gen 
tleman,  like  themselves,  and  promised  that  if  they 
would  follow  him  he  would  make  them  rich  or 
die  in  the  attempt.  Finishing  his  remarks,  which 
were  greeted  with  enthusiastic  cheers,  he  distributed 
among  them  all  his  money  and  jewels,  keeping  little 
more  than  his  clothes  and  armor  for  himself. 

"  "We  will  follow  you  everywhere,  to  the  devil  him 
self!"  shouted  the  wild  horde  of  adventurers.  "No 
more  of  Julius  Caesar,  Hannibal,  and  Scipio !  Hur 
rah  for  the  fame  of  Bourbon !" 

Putting  himself  at  the  head  of  this  tumultuous 
array,  the  duke  led  them  southward  through  Italy, 
halting  before  Bologna,  Florence,  and  other  towns, 
with  a  half- formed  purpose  to  besiege  them,  but  in 
the  end  pushing  on  without  an  assault  until,  on  the 
5th  of  May,  1527,  his  horde  of  land  pirates  came  in 
sight  of  Eome  itself. 

The  imperial  city,  after  being  sacked  by  the  Goths, 
Yandals,  and  other  barbarians,  had  remained  with- 
out  serious  damage  for  a  thousand  years,  but  now 
another  army  was  encamped  under  its  walls,  and  one 


180  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

equally  bent  on  havoc  and  ruin  with  those  of  the 
past. 

"  Now  is  the  time  to  show  courage,  manliness,  and 
the  strength  of  your  bodies,"  said  Bourbon  to  his 
followers.  "If  in  this  bout  you  are  victorious,  you 
will  be  rich  lords  and  well  off  for  the  rest  of  your 
lives.  Yonder  is  the  city  whereof,  in  times  past,  a 
wise  astrologer  prophesied  concerning  me,  telling  me 
that  I  should  die  there ;  but  I  swear  to  you  that  I 
care  but  little  for  dying  there  if,  when  I  die,  my 
corpse  be  left  with  endless  glory  and  renown  through 
out  the  world. " 

He  then  bade  them  to  retire  for  the  night,  order 
ing  them  to  be  ready  betimes  in  the  morning  for  the 
assault,  which  would  take  place  at  an  early  hour  on 
that  day.  Hardly,  indeed,  had  the  stars  faded  before 
the  sunrise  of  May  6,  when  the  soldiers  were  afoot 
and  making  ready  for  the  assault.  Bourbon  placed 
himself  at  their  head,  clad  all  in  white  that  he  might 
be  better  seen  and  known.  To  the  walls  they  ad 
vanced,  bearing  scaling  ladders,  which  they  hastened 
to  place.  On  the  first  raised  of  these  Bourbon  set 
foot,  with  the  soldier's  desire  to  be  the  earliest  in 
the  assault.  But  hardly  had  he  taken  two  steps  up 
the  ladder  than  his  grasp  loosened  and  he  fell  back 
ward,  with  blood  gushing  from  his  side.  He  had 
been  hit  with  an  arquebuse-shot  in  the  left  side  and 
mortally  wounded. 

He  had  but  voice  enough  left  to  bid  those  near  him 
to  cover  his  body  with  a  cloak  and  take  it  away,  that 
his  followers  might  not  know  of  his  death.  Those 
were  the  last  words  recorded  of  the  Duke  of  Bour- 


EPISODES   IN   THE   LIFE  OF  A   TRAITOK.  181 

bon.  He  died  as  he  had  lived,  a  valiant  soldier  and 
a  born  adventurer,  hurling  havoc  with  his  last  words 
on  the  great  city  of  the  Church ;  for  his  followers, 
not  knowing  of  his  death,  attacked  so  furiously  that 
the  walls  were  soon  carried  and  the  town  theirs. 
Then,  as  news  came  to  them  that  their  leader  had 
fallen,  they  burst  into  the  fury  of  slaughter,  shout 
ing,  "  Slay,  slay !  blood,  blood !  Bourbon !  Bourbon !" 
and  cutting  down  remorselessly  all  whom  they  met. 

The  celebrated  artist,  Benvenuto  Cellini,  tells  us  in 
his  autobiography  that  it  was  he  who  shot  Bourbon, 
aiming  his  arquebuse  from  the  wall  of  the  Campo 
Santo  at  one  of  the  besiegers  who  was  mounted 
higher  than  the  rest,  and  who,  as  he  afterwards 
learned,  was  the  leader  of  the  assailing  army. 

Whoever  it  was  that  fired  the  fatal  shot,  the  slain 
man  was  frightfully  avenged,  Eome  being  plundered, 
ravaged,  and  devastated  by  his  brutal  followers  to  a 
degree  not  surpassed  by  the  work  of  the  Yandals  of 
old.  For  several  months  the  famous  city  remained 
in  the  hands  of  this  licentious  soldiery,  and  its  in 
habitants  were  subjected  to  every  outrage  and  bar 
barity  which  brutal  desire  and  ungoverned  license 
could  incite,  while  in  none  of  its  former  periods  of 
ravage  were  so  many  of  the  precious  relics  of  an 
tiquity  destroyed  as  in  this  period  of  occupation  by 
men  who  called  themselves  the  soldiers  of  civilized 
and  Christian  lands. 


16 


ST.  BARTHOLOMEW'S  DAY. 

"  KILL  !  kill !  kill !"  was  the  cry  in  Paris.  "  Blood ! 
blood !  death  to  the  Huguenots !"  came  from  the  lips 
of  thousands  of  maddened  murderers.  Blood  flowed 
everywhere;  men  dabbled  in  blood,  almost  bathed 
in  blood.  A  crimson  tide  flowed  in  the  streets  of 
Paris  deep  enough  to  damn  the  infamous  Catherine 
de'  Medici  and  all  her  vile  confederates.  To  complete 
the  tale  of  that  frightful  carnival  of  murder  there 
was  needed  a  Dante.  The  "  Inferno"  is  incomplete 
without  the  record  of  the  future  retribution  exacted 
from  the  human  demons  who  let  loose  their  wolves 
of  slaughter  on  that  direful  day  of  St.  Bartholomew. 

To  the  crime  of  assassination  must  be  added  that 
of  treachery  of  the  darkest  hue.  Peace  had  been 
made  between  the  warring  parties.  The  Protestant 
chiefs  had  been  invited  to  Paris  to  witness  the  mar 
riage  of  the  young  King  Henry  of  Navarre  with 
Marguerite  de  Yalois,  sister  of  the  king  of  Franco, 
which  was  fixed  for  the  18th  of  August,  1572.  They 
had  been  received  with  every  show  of  amity  and 
good  will.  The  great  Huguenot  leader,  Admiral  de 
Coligny,  had  come,  confiding  in  the  honor  of  his  late 
foes,  and  had  been  received  by  the  king,  Charles  IX., 
with  demonstrations  of  sincere  friendship,  though 
182 


ST.  BARTHOLOMEW'S  DAY.  183 

the  weak  monarch  warned  him  to  beware  of  the 
Guises,  his  bitter  enemies  and  the  remorseless  haters 
of  all  opponents  of  the  Catholic  party. 

On  the  22d  of  August  the  work  of  treachery  began. 
On  that  day  a  murderous  shot  was  fired  at  Coligny 
as  he  stood  by  the  window  of  his  room  engaged  in 
reading  a  letter.  It  smashed  two  fingers  of  his  right 
hand,  and  lodged  a  ball  in  his  left  arm.  The  would- 
be  murderer  escaped. 

"  Here  is  a  fine  proof  of  the  fidelity  to  his  agree 
ment  of  the  Duke  of  Guise,"  said  Coligny,  reproach 
fully,  to  the  king. 

"  My  dear  father,"  returned  the  king,  "  the  hurt 
is  yours,  the  grief  and  the  outrage  mine ;  but  I  will 
take  such  vengeance  that  it  shall  never  be  forgotten." 

He  meant  it  for  the  moment ;  but  his  mind  was 
feeble,  his  will  weak,  himself  a  mere  puppet  in  the 
hands  of  his  imperious  mother  and  the  implacable 
Guises.  Between  them  they  had  determined  on  the 
death  of  the  admiral  and  the  other  Protestant  leaders. 
Sure  of  their  power  over  the  king,  the  orders  for  the 
massacre  were  already  given  when,  near  midnight  of 
August  24,  St.  Bartholomew's  day,  the  queen,  with 
some  of  her  leading  councillors,  sought  the  king's 
room  and  made  a  determined  assault  upon  the  feeble 
defences  of  his  intellect. 

"The  slaughter  of  many  thousands  of  men  may 
be  prevented  by  a  single  sword-thrust,"  they  argued. 
"  Only  kill  the  admiral,  the  head  and  front  of  the 
civil  wars,  and  the  strength  of  the  Huguenots  will  die 
with  him.  The  sacrifice  of  two  or  three  men  will 
satisfy  the  Catholics,  who  will  remain  forever  youi 


184  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

faithful  and  obedient  subjects.  War  is  Inevitable. 
The  Guises  on  one  side,  and  the  Huguenots  on  the 
other,  cannot  be  controlled.  Better  to  win  a  battle 
in  Paris,  where  we  hold  all  the  chiefs  in  our  clutches, 
than  to  put  it  to  hazard  in  the  field.  In  this  case 
pity  would  be  cruelty,  and  cruelty  would  be  pity." 

For  an  hour  and  a  half  the  struggle  with  the  weak 
will  of  the  king  continued.  He  was  violently  agi 
tated,  but  could  not  bring  himself  to  order  the  mur 
der  of  the  guest  to  whom  he  had  promised  his  royal 
faith  and  protection.  The  queen  grew  alarmed. 
Delay  might  ruin  all,  by  the  discovery  of  her  plans. 
At  length,  with  a  show  of  indignation,  she  said, — 

"Then,  if  you  will  not  do  this,  permit  me  and 
your  brother  to  retire  to  some  other  part  of  the 
kingdom." 

This  threat  to  leave  him  alone  to  grapple  with  the 
difficulties  that  surrounded  him  frightened  the  feeble 
king.  He  rose  hastily  from  his  seat. 

"By  God's  death!"  he  cried,  passionately,  "since 
you  think  proper  to  kill  the  admiral,  I  consent ;  but 
kill  all  the  Huguenots  in  Paris  as  well,  in  order  that 
there  remain  not  one  to  reproach  me  afterwards. 
Give  the  orders  at  once."  With  these  words  he  left 
the  room. 

The  beginning  of  the  work  of  bloodshed  had  been 
fixed  for  an  hour  before  daybreak.  But  the  king 
had  spoken  in  a  moment  of  passion  and  agitation. 
An  hour's  reflection  might  change  his  mind.  There 
was  no  time  to  be  lost.  The  queen  gave  the  signal 
at  once,  and  out  on  the  air  of  that  dreadful  night 
rang  the  terrible  tocsin  peal  from  the  tower  of  the 


ST.  BARTHOLOMEW'S  DAY.  185 

church  of  St.  Germain  1'Auxerrois,  the  alarm  call  for 
which  the  white-crossed  murderers  waited. 

Quickly  the  silence  of  the  night  was  broken  by 
loud  cries,  shouts  of  vengeance,  the  tramp  of  many 
feet,  the  sharp  reports  of  musketry.  The  work  was 
begun.  Every  man  not  marked  by  a  cross  was  to  be 
slaughtered.  The  voice  of  murder  broke  fearfully 
upon  the  peacefulness  of  the  recently  quiet  midnight 
hour. 

The  noise  roused  Coligny.  He  rose  hastily  and 
threw  on  his  dressing-gown.  The  cries  and  shots 
told  him  what  was  going  on.  He  had  trusted  the 
faithless  Guises  and  the  soulless  De'  Medici,  and  this 
was  what  came  of  it. 

"  M.  Merlin,"  he  said  to  a  clergyman  who  was  with 
hin>,  "say  me  a  prayer;  I  commit  my  soul  to  my 
Saviour." 

Some  of  his  gentlemen  entered  the  room. 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  this  riot  ?"  asked  Ambrose 
Pare. 

"  My  lord,  it  is  God  calling  us,"  said  Cornaton. 

"  I  have  long  been  ready  to  die,"  said  the  admiral ; 
"  but  you,  my  friends,  save  yourselves,  if  it  is  still 
possible." 

They  left  him,  and  escaped,  the  most  of  them  by 
the  roof.  Only  one  man  stayed  with  him,  Nicholas 
Muss,  a  German  servant,  "  as  little  concerned,"  says 
Cornaton,  "  as  if  there  was  nothing  going  on  around 
him." 

The  flight  had  been  made  barely  in  time.  Hasty 
footsteps  were  heard  below.  The  assassins  were  in 
the  house.  In  a  moment  more  the  chamber  door 
16* 


186  HISTORICAL   TALES 

was  flung  open  and  two  servants  of  the  Duke  of  Guise 
entered. 

"  Art  not  thou  the  admiral  ?"  asked  one  of  them, 
Behme  by  name. 

"Young  man,"  answered  Coligny,  "thou  comest 
against  a  wounded  and  aged  man.  Thou'lt  not 
shorten  my  life  by  much." 

Behme' s  answer  was  to  plunge  a  heavy  boar-spear 
which  he  held  into  the  body  of  the  defenceless 
veteran.  "Withdrawing  it,  he  struck  him  on  the  head 
with  it.  Coligny  fell,  saying, — 

"  If  it  were  but  a  man  !     But  it  is  a  horse-boy." 

Others  rushed  into  the  room  and  thrust  their 
weapons  into  the  dying  man. 

"  Behme,"  cried  the  duke  of  Guise  from  the  court 
yard,  "  hast  thou  done  ?" 

"  It  is  all  over,  my  lord,"  answered  the  assassin. 

The  murderers  flung  the  body  from  the  window. 
It  fell  with  a  crash  at  the  feet  of  Guise  and  his  com 
panions.  They  turned  it  over,  wiped  the  blood  from 
the  face,  and  said, — 

"  Faith,  it  is  he,  sure  enough  !" 

Some  say  that  Guise  kicked  the  bleeding  corpse  in 
the  face. 

Meanwhile,  murder  was  everywhere.  The  savage 
lower  orders  of  Paris,  the  bigoted  Catholics  of  the 
court,  all,  high  and  low,  as  it  seemed,  were  infected 
with  the  thirst  for  blood,  and  the  streets  of  the  city 
became  a  horrible  whirlpool  of  slaughter,  all  who 
did  not  wear  the  saving  cross  being  shot  down  with 
out  mercy  or  discrimination. 

The  anecdotes  of  that  fatal  night  and  the  succeed 


ST.  BARTHOLOMEW'S  DAY.  187 

ing  day  are  numerous,  some  of  them  pathetic,  most 
of  them  ferocious,  all  tending  to  show  how  brutal 
man  may  become  under  the  inspiration  of  religious 
prejudice  and  the  example  of  slaughter, — the  blood 
fury,  as  it  has  been  fitly  termed. 

Teligny,  the  son-in-law  of  Coligny,  took  refuge  on 
a  roof.  The  guards  of  the  Duke  of  Anjou  fired  at 
him  as  at  a  target.  La  Rochefoucauld,  with  whom 
the  king  had  been  in  merry  chat  until  eleven  o'clock 
of  the  preceding  evening,  was  aroused  by  a  loud 
knocking  upon  his  door.  He  opened  it ;  six  masked 
men  rushed  in,  and  instantly  buried  their  poniards 
in  his  body.  The  new  queen  of  Navarre  had  just 
gone  to  bed,  under  peremptory  orders  from  her 
mother,  Catherine  de'  Medici.  She  was  wakened 
from  her  first  slumber  by  a  man  knocking  and  kick 
ing  at  her  door,  with  wild  shouts  of  "  Navarre  I 
Navarre !"  Her  nurse  ran  to  open  the  door,  think 
ing  that  it  was  the  king,  her  lady's  husband.  A 
wounded  and  bleeding  gentleman  rushed  in,  blood 
flowing  from  both  arms,  four  archers  pursuing  him 
into  the  queen's  bedchamber. 

The  fugitive  flung  himself  on  the  queen's  couch, 
seizing  her  in  his  alarm.  She  leaped  out  of  bed  to 
wards  the  wall,  he  following  her,  and  still  clasping 
her  round  the  body.  What  it  meant  she  knew  not, 
but  screamed  in  fright,  her  assailant  screaming  as 
loudly.  Their  cries  had  the  effect  of  bringing  into 
the  room  M.  de  Nangay,  captain  of  the  guards,  who 
could  not  help  laughing  on  seeing  the  plight  of  the 
queen.  But  in  an  instant  more  he  turned  in  a  rage 
upon  uiie  archers,  cursed  them  for  their  daring,  and 


188  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

Harshly  bade  them  begone.  As  for  the  fugitive,  M. 
de  Leran  by  name,  he  granted  him  his  life  at  the 
queen's  prayer.  She  put  him  to  bed,  in  her  closet, 
and  attended  him  until  he  was  well  of  his  wounds 

Such  are  a  few  of  the  anecdotes  told  of  that  night 
of  terror.  They  might  be  extended  indefinitely,  but 
anecdotes  of  murder  are  not  of  the  most  attractive 
character,  and  may  profitably  be  passed  over.  The 
king  saved  some,  including  his  nurse  and  Ambrose 
Pare  his  surgeon,  both  Huguenots.  Two  others,  des 
tined  in  the  future  to  play  the  highest  parts  in  the 
kingdom,  were  saved  by  his  orders.  These  were  the 
two  Huguenot  princes,  Henry  of  Navarre,  and  Henry 
de  Conde.  The  king  sent  for  them  during  the  height 
of  the  massacre,  and  bade  them  recant  or  die. 

"  I  mean,  fbr  the  future,"  he  said,  "  to  have  but  one 
religion  in  my  kingdom ;  the  mass  or  death ;  make 
your  choice." 

The  king  of  Navarre  asked  for  time  to  consider 
the  subject,  reminding  Charles  of  his  promised  pro 
tection.  Conde  was  defiant. 

"  I  will  remain  firm  in  what  I  believe  to  be  the 
true  religion,"  he  said,  "  though  I  have  to  give  up  my 
life  for  it." 

"  Seditious  madman,  rebel,  and  son  of  a  rebel," 
cried  the  king,  furiously,  "  if  within  three  days  you 
do  not  change  your  language,  I  will  have  you  stran- 
gled." 

In  three  days  Charles  himself  changed  his  language. 
Eemorse  succeeded  his  insensate  rage. 

"Ambrose,"  he  said  to  his  surgeon,  "  I  do  not 
know  what  has  come  over  me  for  the  last  two  OP 


ST.  BARTHOLOMEW'S  DAY.  189 

three  days,  but  I  feel  my  mind  and  body  greatly  ex 
cited  ;  in  fact,  just  as  if  I  had  a  fever.  It  seems  to 
me  every  moment,  whether  I  wake  or  sleep,  that 
these  murdered  corpses  appear  to  me  with  hideous 
and  blood-covered  faces.  I  wish  the  helpless  and  in 
nocent  had  not  been  included." 

On  the  next  day  he  issued  orders,  prohibiting,  on 
pain  of  death,  any  slaying  or  plundering.  But  he 
had  raised  a  fury  not  easily  to  be  allayed.  The  tocsin 
of  death  still  rang ;  to  it  the  great  bell  of  the  palace 
added  at  intervals  its  clanging  peal;  shouts,  yells, 
the  sharp  reports  of  pistols  and  arquebuses,  the 
shrieks  of  victims,  filled  the  air;  sixty  thousand 
murderers  thronged  the  streets,  slaying  all  who  wore 
not  the  white  cross,  breaking  into  and  plundering 
bouses,  and  slaughtering  all  within  them.  All  through 
that  dreadful  Sunday  the  crimson  carnival  went 
on,  death  everywhere,  wagons  loaded  with  bleeding 
bodies  traversing  the  streets,  to  cast  their  gory  bur 
dens  into  the  Seine,  a  scene  of  frightful  massacre 
prevailing  such  as  city  streets  have  seldom  witnessed. 
The  king  judged  feebly  if  he  deemed  that  with  a 
word  he  could  quell  the  storm  his  voice  had  raised. 

It  is  not  known  how  many  were  slain  during  that 
outbreak  of  slaughter.  It  was  not  confined  to  Paris, 
but  spread  through  France.  Thousands  were  killed 
in  the  city.  In  the  kingdom  the  number  slain  has 
been  variously  estimated  at  from  thirty  to  one  hun 
dred  thousand.  Such  was  the  frightful  result  of 
that  effort  to  prevent  freedom  of  thought  by  the 
sword. 

It  proved  a  useless  infamy.     Charles  IX.  died  two 


190  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

years  afterwards,  after  having  suffered  agonies  of 
remorse.  Despite  the  massacre,  the  Huguenots  were 
not  all  slain.  Nor  had  the  murder  of  Coligny  robbed 
them  of  a  leader.  Henry  of  Navarre,  who  had 
narrowly  escaped  death  on  that  fearful  night,  was 
in  the  coming  years  to  lead  the  Protestants  to  many 
a  victory,  and  in  the  end  to  become  king  of  France, 
as  Henry  IY.  By  his  coronation,  Coligny  was  re 
venged  ;  the  Huguenots,  instead  of  being  extermi 
nated  by  the  hand  of  massacre,  had  defeated  their 
foes  and  raised  their  leader  to  the  throne,  and  the 
Edict  of  Nantes,  which  was  soon  afterwards  an 
nounced,  gave  liberty  of  conscience  to  France  for 
many  years  thereafter. 


EQUESTRIAN  STATUE  OF  HENRY  IV. 


KING  HENRY   OF  NAVARRE. 

FOR  the  first  time  in  its  history  France  had  a 
Protestant  king.  Henry  III.  had  died  by  the  knife 
of  an  assassin.  Henry  of  Navarre  was  named  by 
him  as  his  successor.  But  the  Catholic  chiefs  of 
France,  in  particular  the  leaders  of  the  League 
which  had  been  banded  against  Henry  III.,  were 
bitterly  opposed  to  a  Huguenot  reign,  and  it  was 
evident  that  only  by  the  sword  could  the  throne  be 
secured. 

The  League  held  Paris  and  much  of  France. 
Henry's  army  was  too  weak  to  face  them.  He  fell 
back  on  Dieppe,  that  he  might  be  near  the  coast, 
and  in  position  to  receive  reinforcements  and  sup 
plies  promised  him  by  Queen  Elizabeth.  The  Duke 
of  Mayenne  pursued  him  with  an  army  of  some 
thirty-five  thousand  men.  Such  was  the  situation 
at  the  date  of  the  opening  of  our  story. 

Henry  III.  had  been  killed  on  the  1st  of  August, 
1589.  Henry  IY.  was  proclaimed  king  on  the  2d 
of  August.  On  the  26th  of  the  same  month  he 
reached  Dieppe,  where  he  was  met  by  the  governor, 
Aymar  de  Chastes,  and  the  leading  citizens,  who 
brought  him  the  keys  of  the  place. 

"  I  come  to  salute  my  lord  and  hand  over  to  him 

191 


192  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

the  government  of  this  city,"  said  Aymar,  who  was 
a  Catholic,  but  a  patriot. 

"  Ventre-saint-gris !"  cried  Henry,  with  his  favorite 
exclamation ;  "  I  know  none  more  worthy  of  it  than 
you  are." 

The  citizens  crowded  round  the  king,  profuse  in 
their  expressions  of  loyalty. 

"  No  fuss,  my  lads,"  said  Henry,  who  was  the 
embodiment  of  plain  common  sense;  "all  I  want 
is  your  affection,  good  bread,  good  wine,  and  good 
hospitable  faces." 

Within  the  town  he  was  received  with  loud  cheers, 
and  the  population  seemed  enthusiastic  in  his  favor. 
But  the  shrewd  soldier  had  no  idea  of  shutting  him 
self  up  in  a  walled  town,  to  be  besieged  there  by 
Mayenne.  So,  after  carefully  inspecting  its  fortifica 
tions,  he  left  five  hundred  men  within  the  town, 
assisted  by  a  garrison  of  burgesses,  and  established 
his  camp  on  a  neighboring  hill,  crowned  by  the  old 
castle  of  Arques,  where  he  put  all  his  men  and  all 
the  peasants  that  could  be  found  busily  to  work  dig 
ging  like  beavers,  working  night  and  day  to  fortify 
the  camp.  He  set  the  example  himself  in  the  use 
of  the  spade. 

"  It  is  a  wonder  I  am  alive  with  such  work  as  I 
have,"  he  wrote  at  the  time.  "  God  have  pity  upon 
me  and  show  me  mercy,  blessing  my  labors,  as  He 
does  in  spite  of  many  folks.  I  am  well,  and  my 
affairs  are  going  well.  I  have  taken  Eu.  The 
enemy,  who  are  double  me  just  now,  thought  to 
catch  me  there ;  but  I  drew  off  towards  Dieppe,  and 
I  await  them  in  a  camp  that  I  am  fortifying.  To- 


KING   HENRY   OF   NAVARRE.  193 

morrow  will  be  the  day  when  I  shall  see  them,  and 
I  hope,  with  God's  help,  that  if  they  attack  me  they 
will  find  they  have  made  a  bad  bargain." 

The  enemy  came,  as  Henry  had  said,  saw  his 
preparations,  and  by  a  skilful  manoeuvre  sought  to 
render  them  useless.  Mayenne  had  no  fancy  for  at 
tacking  those  strong  works  in  front.  He  managed, 
by  an  unlooked-for  movement,  to  push  himself  be 
tween  the  camp  and  the  town,  "  hoping  to  cut  off  the 
king's  communications  with  the  sea,  divide  his  forces, 
deprive  him  of  his  reinforcements  from  England, 
and,  finally,  surround  him  and  capture  him,  as  he  had 
promised  the  Leaguers  of  Paris,  who  were  already 
talking  of  the  iron  cage  in  which  the  Bearnese  would 
be  sent  to  them." 

But  Henry  IY.  was  not  the  man  to  be  caught 
easily  in  a  trap.  Much  as  had  been  his  labor  at  dig 
ging,  he  at  once  changed  his  plans,  and  decided  that 
it  would  not  pay  him  to  await  the  foe  in  his  in- 
trenchments.  If  they  would  not  come  to  him,  he 
must  go  to  them,  preserving  his  communications  at 
any  cost.  Chance,  rather  than  design,  brought  the 
two  armies  into  contact.  A  body  of  light-horse 
approached  the  king's  intrenchments.  A  sharp 
skirmish  followed. 

"  My  son,"  said  Marshal  de  Biron  to  the  young 
Count  of  Auvergne,  "  charge  ;  now  is  the  time." 

The  young  soldier — a  prince  by  birth — obeyed,  and 
so  effectively  that  he  put  the  Leaguers  to  rout,  killed 
three  hundred  of  them,  and  returned  to  camp  unob 
structed.  On  the  succeeding  two  days  similar  en 
counters  took  place,  with  like  gocd  fortune  for 
in.— i  n  17 


194  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

Henry's  army.  Mayenne  was  annoyed.  His  prestige 
was  in  danger  of  being  lost.  He  determined  to  re 
cover  it  by  attacking  the  intrenchments  of  the  king 
with  his  whole  army. 

The  night  of  the  20th  of  September  came.  It  was 
a  very  dark  one.  Henry,  having  reason  to  expect  an 
attack,  kept  awake  the  whole  night.  In  company 
with  a  group  of  his  officers,  he  gazed  over  the  dark 
valley  within  which  lay  Mayenne's  army.  The 
silence  was  profound.  Afar  off  could  be  seen  a  long 
line  of  lights,  so  flickering  and  inconstant  that  the 
observers  were  puzzled  to  decide  if  they  were  men 
or  glow-worms. 

At  five  in  the  morning,  Henry  gave  orders  that 
every  man  should  be  at  his  post.  He  had  his  break 
fast  brought  to  him  on  the  field,  and  ate  it  with  a 
hearty  appetite,  seated  in  a  fosse  with  his  officers 
around  him.  While  there  a  prisoner  was  brought  in 
who  had  been  taken  during  a  reconnoissance. 

"  Good-morning,  Belin,"  said  the  king,  who  knew 
him.  "  Embrace  me  for  your  welcome  appearance." 

Belin  did  so,  taking  the  situation  philosophically. 

"  To  give  you  appetite  for  dinner,"  he  said,  "  you 
are  about  to  have  work  to  do  with  thirty  thou 
sand  foot  and  ten  thousand  horse.  Where  are  your 
forces  ?"  he  continued,  looking  around  curiously. 

"  You  don't  see  them  all,  M.  de  Belin,"  answered 
Henry.  "  You  don't  reckon  the  good  God  and  the 
good  right,  but  they  are  ever  with  me." 

Belin  had  told  the  truth.  About  ten  o' clock  Ma 
yenne  made  his  attack.  It  was  a  day  ill-suited  for 
battle,  for  there  lay  upon  the  field  so  thick  a  fog  that 


KINO   HENRY   OF   NAVARRE.  195 

the  advancing  lines  could  not  see  each  other  at  ten 
paces  apart.  Despite  this,  the  battle  proceeded 
briskly,  and  for  nearly  three  hours  the  two  armies 
struggled,  now  one,  now  the  other,  in  the  ascendant. 

Henry  fought  as  vigorously  as  any  of  his  men,  all 
being  so  confusedly  mingled  in  the  fog  that  there 
was  little  distinction  between  officers  and  soldiers. 
At  one  time  he  found  himself  so  entangled  in  a  medly 
of  disorganized  troopers  that  he  loudly  shouted, — 

"Courage,  gentlemen;  pray,  courage!  Are  there 
not  among  you  fifty  gentlemen  willing  to  die  with 
their  king  ?" 

The  confusion  was  somewhat  alleviated  by  the 
arrival,  at  this  juncture,  of  five  hundred  men  from 
Dieppe,  whose  opportune  coming  the  king  gladly 
greeted.  Springing  from  his  horse,  he  placed  himself 
beside  Chatillon,  their  leader,  to  fight  in  the  trenches. 
The  battle,  which  had  been  hot  at  this  point,  now 
grew  furious,  and  for  some  fifteen  minutes  there  was 
a  hand-to-hand  struggle  in  the  fog,  like  that  of  two 
armies  fighting  in  the  dead  of  night. 

Then  came  a  welcome  change.  For  what  followed 
we  may  quote  Sully.  "When  things  were  in  this 
desperate  state,"  he  says,  "  the  fog,  which  had  been 
very  thick  all  the  morning,  dropped  down  suddenly, 
and  the  cannon  of  the  castle  of  Arques,  getting  sight 
of  the  enemy's  army,  a  volley  of  four  pieces  was 
fired,  which  made  four  beautiful  lanes  in  their  squad 
rons  and  battalions.  That  pulled  them  up  quite 
short ;  and  three  or  four  volleys  in  succession,  which 
produced  marvellous  effects,  made  them  waver,  and, 
little  by  little,  retire  all  of  them  behind  the  turn  of 


196  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

the  valley,  out  of  cannon-shot,  and  finally  to  their 
quarters." 

Mayenne  was  defeated.  The  king  held  the  field. 
He  pursued  the  enemy  for  some  distance,  and  then 
returned  to  Arques  to  return  thanks  to  God  for  the 
victory.  Immediately  afterwards,  Mayenne  struck 
camp  and  marched  away,  leaving  Henry  master  of 
the  situation.  The  king  of  Navarre  had  scored  a 
master-point  in  the  contest  for  the  throne  of  France. 

During  the  ensuing  year  the  cause  of  the  king 
rapidly  advanced.  More  and  more  of  France  ac 
knowledged  him  as  the  legitimate  heir  to  the  throne. 
A  year  after  the  affair  at  Dieppe  he  marched  sud 
denly  and  rapidly  on  Paris,  and  would  have  taken 
it  had  not  Mayenne  succeeded  in  throwing  his  army 
into  the  city  when  it  was  half  captured.  In  March, 
1590,  the  two  armies  met  again  on  the  plain  of  Ivry, 
a  village  half-way  between  Mantes  and  Dreux,  and 
here  was  fought  one  of  the  famous  battles  of  history, 
a  conflict  whose  final  result  was  to  make  Henry  IY. 
king  of  all  France. 

On  this  notable  field  the  king  was  greatly  outnum 
bered.  Mayenne  had  under  his  command  about  four 
thousand  horse  and  twenty  thousand  foot,  while 
Henry's  force  consisted  of  three  thousand  horse  and 
eight  thousand  foot.  But  the  king's  men  were  much 
better  disciplined,  and  much  more  largely  moved  by 
patriotism,  Mayenne's  arm}^  being  in  considerable 
part  made  up  of  German  and  Swiss  auxiliaries.  The 
king's  men,  Catholics  and  Protestants  alike,  were 
stirred  by  a  strong  religious  enthusiasm.  In  a  grave 
and  earnest  speech  to  his  men,  Henry  placed  the 


KING  HENRY   OF   NAVARRE.  197 

issue  of  the  day  in  the  hands  of  the  Almighty.  The 
Catholics  of  his  army  crowded  to  the  neighboring 
churches  to  hear  mass.  The  Huguenots,  much  fewer 
in  number,  "  also  made  their  prayers  after  their 
sort." 

The  day  of  battle  dawned,— March  14,  1590. 
Henry's  army  was  drawn  up  with  the  infantry  to 
right  and  left, — partly  made  up  of  German  and 
Swiss  auxiliaries, — the  cavalry,  under  his  own  com 
mand,  in  the  centre.  In  this  arm,  in  those  days 
of  transition  between  ancient  and  modern  war,  the 
strength  of  armies  lay,  and  those  five  lines  of  horse 
men  were  that  day  to  decide  the  fate  of  the  field. 

In  the  early  morning  Henry  displayed  a  winning 
instance  of  that  generous  good  feeling  for  which  he 
was  noted.  Count  Schomberg,  colonel  of  the  Ger 
man  auxiliaries,  had,  some  days  before,  asked  for  the 
pay  of  his  troops,  saying  that  they  would  not  fight 
if  not  paid.  Henry,  indignant  at  this  implied  threat, 
had  harshly  replied, — 

"  People  do  not  ask  for  money  on  the  eve  of  a 
battle." 

He  now,  just  as  the  battle  was  about  to  begin,  ap 
proached  Schomberg  with  a  look  of  contrition  on  his 
face. 

"Colonel,"  he  said,  "I  have  hurt  your  feelings. 
This  may  be  the  last  day  of  my  life.  I  cannot  bear 
to  take  away  the  honor  of  a  brave  and  honest  gen 
tleman  like  you.  Pray  forgive  me  and  embrace  me." 

"Sir,"  answered  Schomberg,  with  deep  feeling, 
"the  other  day  your  Majesty  wounded  me;  to-day 
you  kill  me." 

17* 


198  HISTORICAL   TALE8. 

He  gave  up  the  command  of  the  German  reiters 
that  he  might  fight  in  the  king's  own  squadron,  and 
was  killed  in  the  battle. 

As  the  two  armies  stood  face  to  face,  waiting  for 
the  signal  of  onset,  Henry  rode  along  the  front  of 
his  squadron,  and  halted  opposite  their  centre. 

"  Fellow-soldiers,"  he  said,  "  you  are  Frenchmen ; 
behold  the  enemy!  If  to-day  you  run  my  risks,  I 
also  run  yours.  1  will  conquer  or  die  with  you. 
Keep  your  ranks  well,  I  pray  you.  If  the  heat  of 
battle  disperse  you  for  a  while,  rally  as  soon  as  you 
can  under  those  pear-trees  you  see  up  yonder  to  my 
right ;  and  if  you  lose  sight  of  your  standards,  do 
not  lose  sight  of  my  white  plume.  Make  that  your 
rallying  point,  for  you  will  always  find  it  in  the 
path  of  honor,  and,  I  hope,  of  victory  also." 

And  Henry  pointed  significantly  to  the  snow-white 
plume  that  ornamented  his  helmet,  while  a  shout  of 
enthusiastic  applause  broke  from  all  those  who  had 
heard  his  stirring  appeal.  Those  words  have  become 
famous.  The  white  plume  of  Henry  of  Navarre  is 
still  one  of  the  rallying  points  of  history.  It  has 
also  a  notable  place  in  poetry,  in  Macaulay's  stirring 
ode  of  "  Ivry,"  from  which  we  quote : 

"  *  And  if  my  standard-bearer  fall, 

As  fall  full  well  he  may  ; 
For  never  saw  I  promise  yet 

Of  such  a  bloody  fray ; 
Press  where  ye  see  my  white  plume  shine 

Amidst  the  ranks  of  war, 
And  be  your  oriflamme  to-day 

The  helmet  of  Navarre.'  " 


KING   HENRY   OP   NAVARRE.  199 

The  words  we  have  quoted  spoken,  Henry  gal 
loped  along  the  whole  line  of  his  army ;  then  halted 
again,  threw  his  bridle  over  his  arm,  and  said,  with 
clasped  hands  and  deep  feeling, — 

"  O  God,  Thou  knowest  my  thoughts,  and  dost  see 
to  the  very  bottom  of  my  heart ;  if  it  be  for  my 
people's  good  that  I  keep  the  crown,  favor  Thou  my 
cause  and  uphold  my  arms.  But  if  Thy  holy  will 
have  otherwise  ordained,  at  least  let  me  die,  O  God, 
in  the  midst  of  these  brave  soldiers  who  give  their 
lives  for  me !" 

The  infantry  began  the  battle.  Egmont,  in  com 
mand  of  Mayenne's  right  wing,  attacked  sharply, 
but  after  a  brief  success  was  killed  and  his  men  re 
pulsed.  On  the  king's  right,  Aumont,  Biron,  and 
Montpensier  drove  their  opponents  before  them.  At 
this  stage  of  the  affray  Mayenne,  in  command  of  the 
powerful  body  of  cavalry  in  the  centre,  fell  upon  the 
king's  horse  with  a  furious  charge,  which  for  the 
time  threatened  to  carry  all  before  it.  The  lines 
wavered  and  broke ;  knights  and  nobles  fell  back  ; 
confusion  began  and  was  increasing;  the  odds  ap 
peared  too  great ;  for  a  brief  and  perilous  period  the 
battle  seemed  lost. 

At  this  critical  moment  Henry  came  to  the  res 
cue.  Victory  or  death  had  been  his  word  to  his 
men.  His  promise  was  now  to  be  kept  in  deeds. 
Pointing  with  his  sword  to  the  enemy,  and  calling 
in  a  loud  voice  upon  all  who  heard  him  to  follow, 
he  spurred  fiercely  forward,  and  in  a  moment  his 
white  plume  was  seen  waving  in  the  thickest  ranks 
of  the  foe. 


200  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

His  cry  had  touched  the  right  place  in  the  hearts 
of  his  followers.  Forgetting  every  thought  but  that 
of  victory  and  the  rescue  of  their  beloved  leader, 
they  pushed  after  him  in  a  gallant  and  irresistible 
charge,  which  resembled  in  its  impetuosity  that  of 
the  Black  Prince  at  Poitiers.  Mayenne's  thronging 
horsemen  wavered  and  broke  before  this  impetuous 
rush.  Into  the  heart  of  the  opposing  army  rode 
Henry  and  his  ardent  followers,  cutting,  slashing, 
shouting  in  victorious  enthusiasm.  In  a  few  minutes 
the  forward  movement  of  Mayenne's  cavalry  was 
checked.  His  troops  halted,  wavered,  broke,  and 
fled,  hotly  pursued  by  their  foes.  The  battle  was 
won.  That  rush  of  the  white  plume  had  carried  all 
before  it,  and  swept  the  serried  ranks  of  the  Leaguers 
to  the  winds.  Let  us  quote  the  poetic  rendition  of 
this  scene  from  Macaulay's  ode. 

"  Hurrah !  the  foes  are  moving ! 

Hark  to  the  mingled  din 
Of  fife,  and  steed,  and  trump,  and  drum 

And  roaring  culverin ! 
The  fiery  duke  is  pricking  fast 

Across  St.  Andre's  plain, 
With  all  the  hireling  cavalry 

Of  Gueldres  and  Almayne. 
1  Now  by  the  lips  of  those  ye  love» 

Fair  gentlemen  of  France, 
Charge  for  the  golden  lilies, 

Upon  them  with  the  lance !' 
A  thousand  spurs  are  striking  deep, 

A  thousand  spears  in  rest, 
A  thousand  knights  are  pressing  clo»a 

Behind  the  snow-white  crest. 


KING   HENRY   OF   NAVARRE.  201 

And  in  they  burst,  and  on  they  rushed, 

While,  like  a  guiding  star, 
Amidst  the  thickest  carnage  blazed 

The  helmet  of  Navarre." 

The  enemy's  cavalry  being  in  flight  and  hotly 
pursued,  Henry  with  a  handful  of  horsemen  (he 
had  but  thirty  at  his  back  when  he  came  out  of 
the  melee)  charged  upon  the  Walloons  and  Swiss, 
who  instantly  broke  and  fled,  with  such  impetuous 
haste  that  they  left  their  standards  behind  them. 

"  Slay  the  strangers,  but  spare  the  French,"  was 
the  king's  order,  as  a  hot  pursuit  of  the  flying  infan 
try  began,  in  which  the  German  auxiliaries  in  par 
ticular  were  cut  down  mercilessly. 

"  And  then  we  thought  on  vengeance, 

And  all  along  our  van, 
*  Kemember  St.  Bartholomew !' 

Was  passed  from  man  to  man. 
But  out  spake  gentle  Henry, 

*  No  Frenchman  is  my  foe  ; 
Down,  down  with  every  foreigner, 

But  let  your  brethren  go.'  " 

The  Swiss,  however,  ancient  friends  and  allies  of 
France,  begged  the  king's  compassion  and  were  ad 
mitted  to  mercy,  being  drafted  into  his  service.  The 
flying  Germans  and  French  were  severely  punished, 
great  numbers  of  them  falling,  many  more  being 
taken,  the  list  of  prisoners  including  a  large  number 
of  lords  and  leaders  of  the  foe.  The  battle  had  been 
remarkably  short.  It  was  won  by  the  cavalry,  the 
infantry  having  scarcely  come  into  action.  As  to  its 
effect,  we  may  quote  again  from  the  poem. 


HISTORICAL   TALES. 

"  Now  glory  to  the  Lord  of  Hosts, 

From  whom  all  glories  are, 
And  glory  to  our  sovereign  liege, 

King  Henry  of  Navarre. 
Now  let  there  be  the  merry  sound 

Of  music  and  of  dance, 
Through  thy  corn-fields  green  and  sunny  vines, 

Oh,  pleasant  land  of  Prance. 
Hurrah  1  hurrah  1  a  single  field 

Hath  turned  the  chance  of  war  I 
Hurrah !  hurrah !  for  Ivry, 

And  Henry  of  Navarre  I" 

It  "  turned  the  chance  of  war"  in  truth,  in  a  great 
measure.  Paris  was  in  consternation,  the  very  priests 
and  monks  taking  arms  and  forming  into  a  regiment, 
in  their  bitter  opposition  to  a  Huguenot  king.  Every 
where  was  a  great  change  in  public  opinion.  Men 
ceased  to  look  on  Henry  as  an  adventurous  soldier, 
and  came  to  regard  him  as  a  great  prince,  fighting 
for  his  own.  Beyond  this,  however,  the  effect  was 
not  immediate.  The  Catholic  opposition  was  bitter. 
Paris  remained  in  the  hands  of  the  League.  A 
Spanish  League  was  formed.  The  difficulties  seemed 
to  grow  deeper.  The  only  easy  solution  to  them  was 
an  abjuration  of  the  Protestant  faith,  and  to  this 
view  Henry  in  the  end  came.  He  professed  conver 
sion  to  Catholicism, — doubtless  with  a  decided  mental 
reservation, — and  all  opposition  ceased.  Henry  IY. 
became  the  fully  acknowledged  king  of  France,  and 
for  the  time  being  all  persecution  of  the  Huguenots 
was  at  an  end. 


THE  MURDER  OF  A  KING. 

HISTORY  is  Ml  of  stories  of  presentiments,  of 
"visions  of  sudden  death,"  made  notable  by  their  real 
ization,  of  strange  disasters  predicted  in  advance. 
Doubtless  there  have  been  very  many  presentiments 
that  failed  to  come  true,  enough,  possibly,  to  make 
those  that  have  been  realized  mere  coincidences. 
However  that  be,  these  agreements  of  prediction 
and  event  are,  to  say  the  least,  curious.  The  case 
of  Caesar  is  well  known.  We  have  now  to  relate 
that  of  Henry  IY. 

Sully  has  told  the  story.  Henry  had  married,  as 
a  second  wife,  Mary  de'  Medici,  daughter  of  the 
Grand  Duke  of  Tuscany,  and  a  woman  whose  head 
strong  temper  and  cantankerous  disposition  were  by 
no  means  calculated  to  make  his  life  with  her  an 
agreeable  one.  In  the  end  she  strongly  insisted  on 
being  crowned  queen,  a  desire  on  her  part  which 
was  very  unpleasant  to  her  royal  husband,  who 
seemed  to  feel  that  some  disaster  impended  over  the 
event. 

"  Hey !  my  friend,"  he  said  to  Sully,  his  intimate, 
u  I  know  not  what  is  the  meaning  of  it,  but  my  heart 
tells  me  that  some  misfortune  will  happen  to  me." 

He  was  seated  on  a  low  chair,  his  face  disturbed 

203 


204  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

by  uneasy  thought,  his  fingers  drumming  on  his 
spectacle-case.  Of  a  sudden  he  sprang  up,  and 
struck  his  hand  sharply  on  his  thigh. 

"  By  God  1"  he  said ;  "  I  shall  die  in  this  city,  and 
shall  never  go  out  of  it.  They  will  kill  me.  I  see 
quite  well  that  they  have  no  other  remedy  in  their 
dangers  but  my  death.  Ah!  accursed  coronation; 
thou  wilt  be  the  cause  of  my  death." 

"  What  fancy  is  this  of  yours  ?"  asked  Sully.  "  If 
it  continue,  I  am  of  opinion  that  you  should  break 
off  this  anointment  and  coronation.  If  you  please 
to  give  me  orders,  it  shall  be  done." 

"Yes,  break  off  the  coronation,"  said  the  king. 
"  Let  me  hear  no  more  about  it.  I  shall  have  my 
mind  at  rest  from  divers  fancies  which  certain  warn 
ings  have  put  into  it.  To  hide  nothing  from  you,  I 
have  been  told  that  I  was  to  be  killed  at  the  first 
grand  ceremony  I  should  undertake,  and  that  1 
should  die  in  a  carriage." 

"You  never  told  me  that,  sir,"  answered  Sully. 
"  I  have  often  been  astounded  to  hear  you  cry  out 
when  in  a  carriage,  as  if  you  had  dreaded  this  petty 
peril,  after  having  so  many  times  seen  you  amidst 
cannon-balls,  musketry,  lance-thrusts,  pike-thrusts, 
and  sword-thrusts,  without  being  a  bit  afraid.  Since 
your  mind  is  so  exercised  thereby,  if  I  were  you,  I 
would  go  away  to-morrow,  let  the  coronation  take 
piace  without  you,  or  put  it  off  to  another  time,  and 
not  enter  Paris  for  a  long  time,  or  in  a  carriage.  If 
you  please,  I  will  send  word  to  Notre  Dame  and 
St.  Deny s  to  stop  everything  and  to  withdraw  the 
workmen." 


o 

I 


g 
o 


THE   MURDER   OF   A   KING  205 

"  I  am  very  much  inclined,"  said  the  king ;  "  but 
what  will  my  wife  say  ?  She  has  gotten  this  coro 
nation  marvellously  into  her  head." 

"  She  may  say  what  she  likes,"  rejoined  Sully. 
"But  I  cannot  think  that,  when  she  knows  your 
opinion  about  it,  she  will  persist  any  longer." 

He  did  not  know  Mary  de'  Medici.  She  did  per 
sist  strongly  and  offensively.  For  three  days  the 
matter  was  disputed,  with  high  words  on  both  sides. 
In  the  end,  Henry,  weary  of  the  contention,  and 
finding  it  impossible  to  convince  or  silence  his  obsti 
nate  wife,  gave  way,  and  the  laborers  were  again  set 
to  work  to  prepare  for  the  coronation. 

Despite  his  presentiments  Henry  remained  in 
Paris,  and  gave  orders  for  the  immediate  perform 
ance  of  the  ceremony,  as  if  he  were  anxious  to  have 
done  with  it,  and  to  pass  the  crisis  in  his  life  which 
he  feared.  The  coronation  was  proclaimed  on  the 
12th  of  May,  1610.  It  took  place  on  the  13th,  at 
St.  Denys.  The  tragical  event  which  he  had  dreaded 
did  not  take  place.  He  breathed  easier. 

On  the  next  day,  the  14th,  he  took  it  in  mind  to 
go  to  the  arsenal  to  see  Sully,  who  was  ill.  Yet  the 
same  indecision  and  fear  seemed  to  possess  him.  He 
stirred  about  in  an  unquiet  and  irresolute  mood, 
saying  several  times  to  the  queen,  "  My  dear,  shall  1 
go  or  not  ?" 

He  went  so  far  as  to  leave  the  room  two  or  three 
times,  but  each  time  returned,  in  the  same  doubt. 

"  My  dear,  shall  I  really  go  ?"  he  said  to  the  queen ; 
and  then,  making  up  his  mind,  he  kissed  her  seveial 
times  and  bade  her  adieu. 
18 


206  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

"I  shall  only  go  there  and  back,"  he  said;  "I 
shall  be  here  again  almost  directly." 

On  reaching  his  carriage,  M.  de  Praslin,  the  captain 
of  his  guard,  proposed  to  attend  him,  but  he  would 
not  permit  it,  saying, — 

"  Get  you  gone ;  I  want  nobody ;  go  about  your 
business." 

Yet  that  morning,  in  a  conversation  with  Guise 
and  Bassompierre,  he  had  spoken  as  if  he  dreaded 
quickly  coming  death. 

"  You  will  live,  please  God,  long  years  yet,"  said 
Bassompierre.  "  You  are  only  in  the  flower  of  your 
age,  in  perfect  bodily  health  and  strength,  full  of 
honor  more  than  any  mortal  man,  in  the  ncost 
flourishing  kingdom  in  the  world,  loved  and  adored 
by  your  subjects,  with  fine  houses,  fine  women,  fine 
children  who  are  growing  up." 

Henry  sighed,  as  if  still  oppressed  by  his  presenti 
ments,  and  sadly  answered, — 

"  My  friend,  all  that  must  be  left." 

Those  were  his  last  words  of  which  any  record 
remains,  save  the  few  he  spoke  in  the  carriage.  A 
few  hours  afterwards  all  the  earthly  blessings  of 
which  Bassompierre  spoke  were  naught  to  him.  The 
king  was  dead. 

To  return  to  our  subject ;  in  the  carriage  with  the 
king  were  several  gentlemen  of  the  court.  Henry 
occupied  the  rear  seat  at  the  left,  with  M.  d'Epernon 
seated  at  his  right,  and  M.  de  Montbazon  between 
him  and  the  door,  while  several  other  gentlemen 
occupied  the  remaining  seats.  When  the  carriage 
reached  the  Croix  du  Tirior,  the  coachman  asked 


THE   MURDER   OF  A   KING.  207 

whither  he  should  drive,  and  was  bidden  to  go 
towards  St.  Innocent.  On  the  way  thither,  while  in 
the  Eue  de  la  Ferronnerie,  a  cart  obstructed  the  way, 
so  that  the  carriage  had  to  turn  towards  the  sidewalk 
and  to  proceed  more  slowly.  Here  were  some  iron 
mongers'  shops,  beside  one  of  which  lurked  a  man, 
his  eyes  keenly  fixed  on  the  approaching  carriage, 
his  hand  nervously  clutching  some  object  in  his 
pocket. 

As  the  carriage  moved  slowly  by,  this  man  sprang 
from  his  covert  and  rushed  towards  it,  a  knife  in  his 
hand.  In  an  instant  he  had  dealt  the  king  two  blows, 
in  rapid  succession,  in  the  left  side.  The  first  struck 
him  below  the  armpit  and  went  upward,  merely 
grazing  the  flesh.  The  other  proved  more  dangerous. 
It  entered  his  side  between  the  fifth  and  sixth  ribs, 
and,  taking  a  downward  direction,  cut  a  large  blood 
vessel.  The  king,  by  chance,  had  his  left  hand  on 
the  shoulder  of  M.  de  Montbazon,  and  was  leaning 
towards  M.  d'Epernon,  to  whom  he  was  speaking. 
He  thus  laid  himself  more  fully  open  to  the  assassin's 
knife. 

All  had  passed  so  quickly  that  no  movement  of 
defence  was  possible.  Henry  gave  a  low  cry  and 
made  a  few  movements. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  sir  ?"  asked  M.  de  Montbazon, 
who  had  not  seen  the  affair. 

<;  It  is  nothing,"  answered  the  king.  "  It  is  noth 
ing,"  he  repeated,  his  voice  now  so  low  that  they 
could  barely  hear  him.  Those  were  the  last  words 
he  spoke. 

The  assassin  had  been  seized.    He  was  a  fanatic, 


208  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

named  Frangois  Eavaillac,  who  had  been  roused  to 
his  mad  act  by  rumors  that  Henry  intended  to  make 
war  upon  the  pope,  and  other  baseless  fancies  of  the 
king's  opponents.  With  him  we  are  not  further  con 
cerned,  other  than  to  say  that  he  was  made  to  suffer 
the  most  barbarous  tortures  for  his  deed. 

The  carriage  was  turned  and  driven  back  to  the 
Louvre.  On  reaching  the  entrance  steps  some  wine 
was  given  to  the  wounded  monarch.  An  officer  of 
the  guard  raised  his  head,  his  only  sign  of  intelligence 
being  some  movements  of  the  eyes.  In  a  moment 
more  they  were  closed,  never  to  be  opened  again. 

He  was  carried  up-stairs  and  laid  on  the  couch  in 
his  closet,  and  from  there  taken  to  the  bed  in  his 
chamber.  As  he  lay  there  some  one  gave  him  holy 
water,  and  M.  de  Yic,  a  councillor  of  state,  put  to 
his  mouth  the  cross  of  his  order,  and  directed  his 
thoughts  to  God.  All  this  was  lost  on  the  king.  He 
lay  motionless  and  insensible.  All  around  him  were 
in  tears.  The  grief  of  the  queen  was  unconsolable. 
All  Paris  was  weeping.  The  monarch  against  whom 
the  Parisians  had  so  bitterly  fought  they  now  mourned 
as  they  would  have  done  for  their  dearest  friend. 

The  surgeons  wanted  to  dress  the  king's  wounds. 
Milon,  the  chief  physician,  who  sat  weeping  at  the 
bedside,  waved  them  aside.  A  faint  sigh  died  away 
on  the  king's  lips.  "  It  is  all  over,"  said  Milon,  sadly, 
*'  He  is  gone." 

What  followed  may  be  told  in  a  few  words.  The 
old  adage,  "  The  king  is  dead ;  long  live  the  king !" 
was  the  thought  of  practical  men  of  affairs.  Sully, 
whom  the  news  of  the  assassination  had  raised  in 


THE  MUEDER  OF  A  KING.  209 

haste  from  his  sick-bed,  put  himself  quickly  at  the 
head  of  some  forty  horse  and  rode  towards  the  palace. 
Guise  and  Bassompierre  had  come  to  the  door,  to  see 
what  was  passing  outside,  as  he  rode  up. 

"  Gentlemen,"  he  said  to  them,  with  tearful  eyes, 
"  if  the  service  you  vowed  to  the  king  be  impressed 
upon  your  souls  as  deeply  as  it  ought  to  be  with  all 
good  Frenchmen,  swear  this  moment  to  keep  towards 
the  king's  son  and  heir  the  same  allegiance  that  you 
showed  him,  and  to  spend  your  lives  and  your  blood 
in  avenging  his  death." 

"Sir,"  answered  Bassompierre,  "it  is  for  us  to 
cause  this  oath  to  be  taken  by  others ;  we  have  no 
need  to  be  exhorted  thereto." 

Leaving  them,  Sully  rode  to  the  Bastille,  which  he 
took  possession  of,  and  sent  out  soldiers  to  seize  and 
carry  off  all  the  bread  that  could  be  found  in  the 
market  and  at  the  shops  of  the  bakers.  He  de 
spatched  a  messenger  also,  in  the  greatest  haste,  to 
his  son-in-law,  M.  de  Eohan,  then  in  command  of  a 
force  of  six  thousand  Swiss,  bidding  him  to  march 
with  all  speed  upon  Paris. 

Henry  IY.  was  dead.  His  son  was  his  legitimate 
successor.  But  the  murder  of  Henry  III.  had  been 
followed  by  a  contest  for  the  throne.  That  of 
Henry  IV.  might  be.  Sully  felt  it  necessary  to  take 
precautions,  although  the  king  was  hardly  cold  in 
death.  The  king  dies ;  the  kingship  survives ;  prudent 
men,  on  whom  the  peace  of  a  people  depend,  prepare 
without  delay ;  the  Duke  de  Sully  was  such  a  man. 
His  precautions,  however,  were  not  needed.  No  one 
thought  of  opposing  the  heirship  of  the  king's  eon. 
in.— o  18* 


RICHELIEU  AND  THE  CONSPIR 
ATORS. 

IN  a  richly-furnished  state  apartment  of  the  royal 
palace  of  the  Luxembourg,  on  a  day  in  November, 
1630,  stood  Louis  XIII.,  king  of  France,  tapping  ner 
vously  with  his  fingers  on  the  window-pane,  and  with 
a  disturbed  and  irresolute  look  upon  his  face.  Eeside 
him  was  his  favorite,  St.  Simon,  a  showily-dressed 
and  handsome  gentleman  of  the  court. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  all  this  ?"  asked  the  king, 
his  fingers  keeping  up  their  idle  drumming  on  the 


"  Sir,  I  seem  to  be  in  another  world,"  was  the  politic 
reply.  "  But  at  any  rate  you  are  master." 

"  I  am,'7  said  the  king,  proudly,  "  and  I  will  make 
it  felt,  too." 

The  royal  prisoner  was  stirring  uneasily  in  the 
bonds  which  hard  necessity  had  cast  round  his  will. 
It  was  against  Cardinal  Eichelieu  that  his  testy  re 
mark  was  made,  yet  in  the  very  speaking  he  could 
not  but  feel  that  to  lose  Eichelieu  was  to  lose  the 
bulwark  of  his  throne ;  that  this  imperious  master, 
against  whose  rule  he  chafed,  was  the  glory  and  the 
support  of  his  reign. 

Just  now,  however,  the  relations  between  king  and 
210 


RICHELIEU  AND   THE   CONSPIEATOE8.  211 

cardinal  were  sadly  strained.  Mary  de'  Medici,  the 
king's  mother,  once  Kichelieu's  ardent  friend,  was 
now  his  active  foe.  The  queen,  Anne  of  Austria,  was 
equally  hostile.  Their  influence  had  been  used  to  its 
utmost  to  poison  the  mind  of  the  monarch  against 
his  minister,  and  seemingly  with  success.  To  all 
appearance  it  looked  as  if  the  great  cardinal  was 
near  his  fall. 

Eumor  of  what  was  afloat  had  invaded  the  court. 
Everywhere  were  secret  whisperings,  knowing  looks, 
expectant  movements.  The  courtiers  were  flocking 
to  the  Luxembourg,  in  hopes  of  some  advantage  to 
themselves.  Marillac,  the  keeper  of  the  seals,  was 
at  his  country  house  at  Glatigny,  very  near  Versailles, 
where  the  king  was  expected.  He  remained  there  in 
hopes  that  Louis  would  send  for  him  and  put  the 
power  of  the  disgraced  cardinal  into  his  hands.  The 
colossus  seemed  about  to  fall.  All  waited  expec 
tantly. 

The  conspiracy  of  the  queen-mother  had  gone 
farther  than  to  use  her  personal  influence  with  her 
son  against  the  cardinal.  There  were  others  in 
league  with  her,  particularly  Marillac,  the  keeper  of 
the  seals,  and  Marshal  Marillac,  his  brother,  then  in 
command  of  a  large  force  in  Piedmont.  All  had 
been  carefully  prepared  against  the  fall  of  the  minis 
ter.  The  astute  conspirators  had  fully  laid  their 
plans  as  to  what  was  to  follow. 

Unfortunately  for  them,  they  did  not  reckon  with 
the  two  principal  parties  concerned,  Louis  XIII.  and 
Cardinal  Kichelieu.  With  all  his  weaknesses  of  tem 
per  and  mind,  the  king  had  intellect  enough  to  know 


212  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

what  were  the  great  interests  of  his  kingdom  and 
power,  and  on  whose  shoulders  they  rested.  Above 
all  the  littleness  of  a  court  cahal  he  could  not  but 
discern  the  great  questions  which  impended,  and 
with  which  he  felt  quite  incompetent  to  deal.  And 
he  could  perceive  but  one  man  in  his  kingdom  able 
to  handle  these  great  problems  of  state. 

As  for  Eichelieu,  he  was  by  no  means  blind  to 
what  was  going  on  around  him.  He  was  the  last 
man  in  the  world  to  be  a  dupe.  Delaying  until  the 
time  seemed  ripe  to  move,  he  requested  and  obtained 
an  interview  with  the  king.  They  were  a  long  time 
closeted,  while  all  the  courtier- world  of  Paris  waited 
in  expectation  and  suspense. 

What  passed  in  that  private  cabinet  of  the  palace 
no  one  knew,  but  when  the  interview  was  over  it 
quickly  became  evident  that  the  queen-mother  and 
her  associates  had  lost,  the  cardinal  had  won.  Michael 
de  Marillac  had  hopeful  dreams  that  night,  as  he  slept 
in  his  house  at  Glatigny ;  but  when  he  awoke  in  the 
morning  it  was  to  receive  the  disturbing  news  that 
the  king  and  the  cardinal  were  at  Versailles  together, 
the  minister  being  lodged  in  a  room  under  that  of 
the  monarch.  Quickly  came  still  more  disturbing 
news.  The  king  demanded  a  return  of  the  seals. 
Before  this  tidings  could  be  well  digested,  the  fright 
ened  plotter  learned  that  his  own  arrest  had  been 
ordered,  and  that  the  exons  were  already  at  his  door 
to  secure  his  person. 

While  the  courtier  conspirator  was  being  thus 
attended  to,  the  soldier,  his  brother,  was  not  for 
gotten.  A  courier  had  been  despatched  to  the  head 


RICHELIEU  AND  THE   CONSPIRATORS.  213 

quarters  of  the  army  in  Piedmont,  bearing  a  letter 
to  Marshal  Schomberg,  who,  with  Marshals  La  Force 
and  Marillac,  had  formed  there  a  junction  of  the 
forces  under  their  control.  Marillac  was  in  com 
mand  on  the  day  of  the  courier's  arrival,  and  was 
impatiently  awaiting  the  news,  for  which  he  had  been 
prepared  by  his  brother,  of  the  cardinal's  disgrace. 

Schomberg  opened  his  despatches.  The  first  words 
he  saw,  in  the  king's  own  handwriting,  were  these : 

"  My  dear  cousin,  you  will  not  fail  to  arrest  Marshal 
Marillac ;  it  is  for  the  good  of  my  service  and  for 
your  own  exculpation." 

Schomberg  looked  at  the  document  with  startled 
eyes.  What  could  this  mean  ?  And  was  it  safe  to 
attempt  an  arrest?  A  large  section  of  the  troops 
were  devoted  to  Marillac.  He  consulted  with  La 
Force,  who  advised  him  to  obey  orders,  whatever 
the  consequences.  Schomberg  thereupon  showed 
Marillac  the  despatch.  He  beheld  it  with  surprise 
and  alarm,  but  without  thought  of  resistance. 

"  I  can  protest  that  I  have  done  nothing  contrary 
to  the  king's  service,"  he  said.  "  The  truth  is,  that 
my  brother,  the  keeper  of  the  seals,  and  I  have 
always  been  the  servants  of  the  queen-mother.  She 
must  have  had  the  worst  of  it,  and  Cardinal  Eichelieu 
has  won  the  day  against  her  and  her  servants." 

So  it  proved,  indeed,  and  he  was  to  suffer  for  it. 
He  was  tried, — not  on  any  political  charge,  however, 
the  crimes  alleged  against  him  were  peculation 
and  extortion,  common  practices  with  many  of  his 
fellow-generals. 

"  It  is  a  very  strange  thing,"  said  he,  bitterly,  "  to 


214  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

prosecute  me  as  they  do;  my  trial  is  a  mere  question 
of  hay,  straw,  wood,  stones,  and  lime ;  there  is  not 
case  enough  for  whipping  a  lackey." 

He  was  mistaken ;  there  was  case  enough  for  be 
heading  a  marshal.  It  was  not  a  question  of  pecula 
tion,  but  of  offending  the  great  cardinal,  for  which 
he  was  really  put  on  trial,  and  the  case  ended  in  his 
being  found  guilty  of  malfeasance  in  office  and  exe 
cuted.  His  brother  died  in  prison  three  months 
afterwards, — of  decline,  so  the  records  say. 

"Dupes'  Day,"  as  the  day  we  have  described  came 
to  be  called,  was  over.  The  queen-mother  had  lost. 
Her  dupes  had  suffered.  Eichelieu  was  more  power 
ful  than  ever.  She  had  but  strengthened  his  ascend 
ancy  over  the  king.  But  Mary  de'  Medici  was  not 
the  woman  to  acknowledge  defeat  easily.  No  sooner 
had  her  first  effort  failed  than  her  enmity  against 
the  too-powerful  minister  showed  itself  in  a  new 
direction,  the  principal  agent  of  her  purposes  being 
now  her  son,  the  Duke  of  Orleans,  brother  to  the 
king.  The  duke,  after  an  angry  interview  with  the 
cardinal,  left  Paris  in  haste  for  Orleans,  his  mother 
declaring  to  the  king  that  the  occasion  of  his  sudden 
departure  was  that  he  could  no  longer  tolerate  by 
his  presence  Eichelieu's  violent  proceedings  against 
herself.  She  professed  to  have  been  taken  by  sur 
prise  by  his  departure,  which  Louis  doubting,  "  she 
took  occasion  to  belch  forth  fire  and  flames  against 
the  cardinal,  and  made  a  fresh  attempt  to  ruin  him 
in  the  king's  estimation,  though  she  had  previously 
bound  herself  by  oath  to  take  no  more  steps  against 
him." 


RICHELIEU  AND   THE   CONSPIRATORS.  215 

Her  malignity  defeated  itself.  Richelieu  was  too 
skilful  an  adept  in  the  game  of  politics  to  be  so 
easily  beaten.  He  brought  the  affair  before  the 
council,  seemingly  utterly  indifferent  what  might 
be  done ;  the  trouble  might  be  ended,  he  suggested, 
by  his  own  retirement  or  that  of  the  queen-mother, 
whichever  in  their  wisdom  they  might  deem  best. 

The  implied  threat  settled  the  matter.  The  king, 
alarmed  at  the  idea  of  having  the  government  of 
France  left  on  his  weak  hands,  at  once  gave  the 
offending  lady  to  understand  that  she  had  better 
retire  for  a  time  to  one  of  his  provincial  palaces, 
recommending  Moulins.  Mary  de'  Medici  heard  this 
order  with  fiery  indignation.  She  shut  herself  up 
in  the  castle  of  Compiegne,  where  she  then  was,  and 
declared  that  she  would  not  leave  unless  dragged  out 
by  main  force.  In  the  end,  however,  she  changed 
her  mind,  fled  by  night  from  the  castle,  and  made 
her  way  to  Brussels,  where  she  took  refuge  from 
her  powerful  foe.  Eichelieu's  game  was  won.  Mary 
de'  Medici  had  lost  all  influence  with  her  son.  She 
was  never  to  see  him  again. 

A  number  of  years  passed  before  a  new  plot  was 
hatched  against  the  cardinal.  Then  a  conspiracy 
was  organized  which  threatened  not  only  his  power 
but  his  life.  It  was  in  1636.  The  king's  head- 
quarters  were  then  at  the  castle  of  JDemuin.  The 
Duke  of  Orleans,  who  had  been  recently  in  armed 
rebellion  against  the  king,  and  had  been  pardoned 
for  his  treason,  determined,  in  common  with  the 
Count  of  Soissons,  that  their  enemy,  the  cardinal, 
should  die.  There  were  others  in  this  plot  of  assassi- 


216  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

nation,  two  of  the  duke's  gentlemen,  Montresor  and 
Saint  Ibal,  being  chosen  to  deal  the  fatal  blow.  They 
were  to  station  themselves  at  the  foot  of  the  grand 
stairway,  meet  Eichelieu  at  his  exit  from  the  council, 
and  strike  him  dead.  The  duke  was  to  give  the 
signal  for  the  murderous  assault. 

The  door  of  the  council  chamber  opened.  The 
king  and  the  cardinal  came  out  together  and  de 
scended  the  stairs  in  company,  Eichelieu  attending 
Louis  until  he  had  reached  the  foot  of  the  stairway, 
and  gone  into  an  adjoining  room.  The  cardinal 
turned  to  ascend  again,  without  a  moment's  suspicion 
that  the  two  gentlemen  at  the  stair-foot  clutched 
hidden  daggers  in  their  hands,  ready,  at  a  signal 
from  the  duke,  who  stood  near  by,  to  plunge  them 
in  his  breast. 

The  signal  did  not  come.  At  the  last  moment  the 
courage  of  Gaston  of  Orleans  failed  him.  Whether 
from  something  in  Eichelieu's  earnest  and  dignified 
aspect,  or  some  sudden  fear  of  serious  consequences 
to  himself,  the  chief  conspirator  turned  hastily  away, 
without  speaking  the  fatal  word  agreed  upon.  What 
the  duke  feared  to  do,  the  count  dared  not  do.  The 
two  chosen  assassins  stood  expectant,  greeting  the 
cardinal  as  he  passed,  and  waiting  in  nervous  im 
patience  for  the  promised  signal.  It  failed  to  come. 
Their  daggers  remained  undrawn.  Eichelieu  calmly 
ascended  the  stairs  to  his  rooms,  without  a  dream  of 
the  deadly  peril  he  had  run. 

The  conspiracy  against  the  cardinal  which  has 
attained  the  greatest  historical  notoriety  is  that 
associated  with  the  name  of  Cinq-Mars,  the  famous 


RICHELIEU   AND   THE   CONSPIRATORS.  217 

favorite  of  Louis  XIII.  Brilliant  and  witty,  a  true 
type  of  the  courtiers  of  the  time,  this  handsome 
youth  so  amused  and  interested  the  king  that,  when 
he  was  only  nineteen  years  of  age,  Louis  made  him 
master  of  the  wardrobe  and  grand  equerry  of  France. 
M.  Le  Grand  he  was  called,  and  grand  enough  he 
seemed,  in  his  independent  and  capricious  dealings 
with  the  king.  Louis  went  so  far  as  to  complain  to 
Eichelieu  of  the  humors  of  his  youthful  favorite. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  he  wrote,  under  date  of  January 
4,  1641,  "to  trouble  you  about  the  ill-tempers  of  M. 
Le  Grand.  I  upbraided  him  with  his  heedlessness ; 
he  answered  that  for  that  matter  he  could  not  change, 
and  that  he  should  do  no  better  than  he  had  done. 
I  said  that,  considering  his  obligations  to  me,  he 
ought  not  to  address  me  in  that  manner.  He  an 
swered  in  his  usual  way ;  that  he  didn't  want  my 
kindness,  that  he  could  do  very  well  without  it,  and 
that  he  would  be  quite  as  well  content  to  be  Cinq- 
Mars  as  M.  Le  Grand,  but  as  for  changing  his  ways 
and  his  life,  he  couldn't  do  it.  And  so,  he  continually 
nagging  at  me  and  I  at  him,  we  came  as  far  as  the 
court-yard,  where  I  said  to  him  that,  being  in  the 
temper  he  was  in,  he  would  do  me  the  pleasure  of 
not  coming  to  see  me.  I  have  not  seen  him  since." 

This  letter  yields  a  curious  revelation  of  the  secret 
history  of  a  royal  court.  There  have  been  few  kings 
with  whom  such  impudent  independence  would  have 
served.  Louis  XIII.  was  one  of  them.  Cinq-Mars 
seems  to  have  known  his  man.  The  quarrel  was  not 
of  long  continuance.  Kichelieu,  who  had  first  placed 
the  youth  near  the  king,  easily  reconciled  them,  a 
K  19 


218  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

service  which  the  foolish  boy  soon  repaid  by  lend 
ing  an  ear  to  the  enemies  of  the  cardinal.  For  this 
Eichelieu  was  in  a  way  responsible.  He  had  begun 
to  find  the  constant  attendance  of  the  favorite  upon 
the  king  troublesome  to  himself,  and  gave  him  plainly 
to  understand  so.  "  One  day  he  sent  word  to  him 
not  to  be  for  the  future  so  continually  at  his  heels, 
and  treated  him  even  to  his  face  with  as  much  tart 
ness  and  imperiousness  as  if  he  had  been  the  lowest 
of  his  valets."  Such  treatment  was  not  likely  to  be 
well  received  by  one  of  the  independent  disposition 
of  Cinq-Mars.  He  joined  in  a  plot  against  the 
cardinal. 

The  king  was  ill ;  the  cardinal  more  so.  Gaston, 
Duke  of  Orleans,  was  again  in  Paris,  and  full  of  his 
old  intriguing  spirit.  The  Duke  of  Bouillon  was  there 
also,  having  been  sent  for  by  the  king  to  take  com 
mand  of  the  army  of  Italy.  He,  too,  was  drawn  into 
the  plot  which  was  being  woven  against  Eichelieu. 
The  queen,  Anne  of  Austria,  was  another  of  the 
conspirators.  The  plot  thus  organized  was  the  deep 
est  and  most  far-reaching  which  had  yet  been  laid 
against  the  all-powerful  minister. 

Bouillon  was  prince-sovereign  of  the  town  of 
Sedan.  This  place  was  to  serve  the  conspirators  as 
an  asylum  in  case  of  reverse.  But  a  town  was  not 
enough;  an  army  was  needed;  whence  should  it 
come  ?  Spain  might  furnish  it. 

The  affair  was  growing  to  the  dimensions  of  a 
conspiracy  against  the  crown  as  well  as  the  minister. 
Viscount  de  Fontrailles,  a  man  who  detested  the 
cardinal,  and  would  not  have  hesitated  to  murder 


BICHELIEU   AND   THE   CONSPIRATORS.  219 

him  as  a  simpler  way  of  disposing  of  the  difficulty, 
was  named  by  Cinq-Mars  as  a  proper  person  to  deal 
with  the  Spaniards.  He  set  out  for  Madrid,  and 
soon  succeeded  in  negotiating  a  secret  treaty,  in  the 
name  of  the  Duke  of  Orleans,  by  whose  terms  Spain 
was  to  furnish  the  conspirators  with  twelve  thousand 
foot,  five  thousand  horse,  and  the  necessary  funds 
for  the  enterprise.  The  town  of  Sedan,  and  the 
names  of  Cinq-Mars  and  Bouillon,  were  not  men 
tioned  in  this  treaty,  but  were  given  in  a  separate 
document. 

While  this  dangerous  work  was  going  on  the  car 
dinal  was  dangerously  ill,  a  prey  to  violent  fever,  and 
with  an  abscess  on  his  arm  which  prevented  him  from 
writing.  The  king  was  with  the  army,  which  was 
besieging  Perpignan.  With  him  was  Cinq- Mars,  who 
was  doing  his  best  to  insinuate  suspicions  of  the 
minister  into  the  mind  of  the  king.  All  seemed 
promising  for  the  conspirators,  the  illness  of  the 
cardinal,  in  their  opinion,  being  likely  to  carry  him 
off  in  no  long  period,  and  meanwhile  preventing  him 
from  discovering  the  plot  and  setting  himself  right 
with  the  king. 

Evidently  these  hopeful  people  did  not  know  the 
resources  of  Cardinal  Richelieu.  In  all  his  severe 
illness  his  eyes  had  not  been  blind,  his  intellect  not 
at  rest.  Keen  as  they  thought  themselves,  they  had 
a  man  with  double  their  resources  to  deal  with. 
Though  Eichelieu  was  by  no  means  surrounded  by 
the  intricate  web  of  spies  and  intrigues  with  which 
fiction  and  the  drama  have  credited  him,  he  was 
not  without  his  secret  agents,  and  his  means  of 


220  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

tracing  the  most  hidden  movements  of  his  enemies. 
Cinq-Mars  lacked  the  caution  necessary  for  a  con 
spirator.  His  purposes  became  evident  to  the  king, 
who  had  no  thought  of  exchanging  his  great  minister 
for  a  frivolous  boy  who  was  only  fitted  to  amuse 
his  hours  of  relaxation.  The  outcome  of  the  affair 
appears  in  a  piece  of  news  published  in  the  Gazette 
de  France  on  June  21,  1642. 

"  The  cardinal-duke,"  it  said,  "  after  remaining  two 
days  at  Aries,  embarked  on  the  llth  of  this  month 
for  Tarascon,  his  health  becoming  better  and  better. 
The  king  has  ordered  under  arrest  Marquis  de  Cinq- 
Mars,  grand  equerry  of  France." 

Had  a  thunderbolt  fallen  in  their  midst,  the  enemies 
of  Kichelieu  could  not  have  been  in  greater  conster 
nation  than  at  this  simple  item  of  news.  How  came 
it  about  ?  The  fox  was  not  asleep.  Nor  had  his  ill 
ness  robbed  his  hand  and  his  brain  of  their  cunning. 
The  king,  overladen  with  affairs  of  state  from  which 
his  minister  when  well  had  usually  relieved  him,  sent 
a  message  of  confidence  to  Eichelieu,  indicating  that 
his  enemies  would  seek  in  vain  to  separate  them.  In 
reply  the  cardinal  sent  the  king  a  document  which 
filled  the  monarch  with  an  astonishment  that  was 
only  equalled  by  his  wrath.  It  was  a  copy  of  the 
secret  treaty  of  Orleans  with  Spain ! 

The  king  could  hardly  believe  his  eyes.  So  this 
was  what  lay  behind  the  insinuations  of  Cinq-Mars  ? 
An  insurrection  was  projected  against  the  state! 
The  cardinal,  mayhap  the  king  himself,  was  to  be 
overthrown  by  force  of  arms !  Only  the  sleepless 
vigilance  of  Eichelieu  could  have  discovered  and 


RICHELIEU  AND  THE  CONSPIRATORS.  221 

exposed  this  perilous  plot.  It  remained  for  the  king 
to  second  the  work  of  his  minister  by  decisive  action. 
An  order  was  at  once  issued  for  the  arrest  of  Cinq- 
Mars  and  his  intimate  friend,  M.  de  Thou ;  while  a 
messenger  was  sent  off  in  all  haste  to  the  army  of 
Italy,  bearing  orders  for  the  arrest  of  the  Duke  of 
Bouillon  at  the  head  of  his  troops. 

Fontrailles,  just  arrived  from  his  mission  to  Spain, 
returned  to  that  kingdom  with  all  haste,  having  first 
said  to  Cinq-Mars,  "  Sir,  you  are  a  fine  figure ;  if 
you  were  shorter  by  the  whole  head  you  would  not 
cease  to  be  very  tall.  As  for  me,  who  am  already 
very  short,  nothing  could  be  taken  off  me  without 
inconveniencing  me  and  making  me  cut  the  poorest 
figure  in  the  world.  You  will  be  good  enough,  it 
you  please,  to  let  me  get  out  of  the  way  of  edge 
tools." 

The  minor  parties  to  the  conspiracy,  with  the  ex 
ception  of  the  prudent  Fontrailles,  were  in  custody. 
The  most  guilty  of  all,  the  king's  brother,  was  at 
large.  "What  part  was  he  to  play  in  the  drama  of 
retribution?  Flight,  or  treachery  to  his  accom 
plices,  alone  remained  to  him.  He  chose  the  latter, 
sending  an  agent  to  the  king,  who  had  just  joined 
the  cardinal  at  Tarascon,  with  directions  to  confess 
everything  and  implore  for  him  the  pardon  of  his 
royal  brother.  The  cardinal  questioned  this  agent, 
the  Abbe  de  la  Kiviere,  with  unrelenting  severity, 
made  him  write  and  sign  everything,  and  was  in 
clined  to  make  the  prince-duke  appear  as  a  witness 
at  the  trial,  and  yield  up  his  accomplices  in  the  face 
of  the  world.  This  final  disgrace,  however,  was 
19* 


222  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

omitted  at  the  wish  of  Louis,  and  an  order  of  exile 
was  sent  from  the  king  to  his  brother,  which  bore 
this  note  in  the  cardinal's  hand, — 

"  Monsieur  will  have  in  his  place  of  exile  twelve 
thousand  crowns  a  month,  the  same  sum  that  the 
king  of  Spain  had  promised  to  give  him." 

The  dying  cardinal  had  triumphed  over  all  his 
foes.  He  had,  from  his  bed  at  Tarascon,  dictated  to 
the  king  the  course  to  be  pursued,  entailing  dishonor 
to  the  Duke  of  Orleans  and  death  to  the  grand  equerry 
of  France.  The  king  then  took  his  way  back  to 
Fontainebleau  in  the  litter  of  the  cardinal,  which 
the  latter  had  lent  him.  Eichelieu  did  not  remain 
long  behind  him.  He  was  conveyed  to  his  house  in 
Lyons  in  a  litter  shaped  like  a  square  chamber,  cov 
ered  with  red  damask,  and  borne  on  the  shoulders  of 
eighteen  guards.  Within,  beside  his  couch,  was  a 
table  covered  with  papers,  at  which  he  worked  with 
his  ordinary  diligence,  chatting  pleasantly  at  inter 
vals  with  such  of  his  servants  as  accompanied  him. 
In  the  same  equipage  he  left  Lyons  for  the  Loire,  on 
his  return  to  Paris.  On  the  way  it  was  necessary  to 
pull  down  walls  and  bridge  ditches  that  this  great 
litter,  in  which  the  greatest  man  in  France  lay  in 
mortal  illness,  might  pass. 

What  followed  needs  few  words.  The  Duke  of 
Bouillon  confessed  everything,  and  was  pardoned  on 
condition  of  his  delivering  up  Sedan  to  the  king. 
He  was  kept  in  prison,  however,  till  after  the  death 
of  his  accomplices,  Cinq-Mars  and  De  Thou,  who 
were  tried  and  sentenced  to  execution. 

Bouillon  had  not  long  to  wait.    The  execution  took 


RICHELIEU  AND   THE   CONSPIRATORS.  223 

place  on  the  very  day  on  which  sentence  had  been 
pronounced.  The  two  culprits  met  death  firmly. 
Cinq-Mars  was  but  twenty-two  years  of  age.  He 
had  rapidly  run  his  course.  "  Now  that  I  make  not 
a  single  step  which  does  not  lead  me  to  death,  I  am 
more  capable  than  anybody  else  of  estimating  the 
value  of  the  things  of  the  world,"  he  wrote. 
"Enough  of  this  world;  away  to  Paradise!"  said 
De  Thou,  as  he  walked  to  the  scaffold. 

There  were  no  more  conspiracies  against  Eichelieu. 
There  was  no  time  for  them,  for  in  less  than  three 
months  afterwards  he  was  dead.  The  greatest,  or  at 
least  the  most  dramatic,  minister  known  to  the  pages 
of  history  had  departed  from  this  world.  His  royal 
master  did  not  long  survive  him.  In  five  months 
afterwards,  Louis  XIII.  had  followed  his  minister  to 
the  grave. 


THE  PARLIAMENT  OF  PARIS. 

IN  the  streets  of  Paris  all  was  tumult  and  fiery 
Indignation.  Never  had  there  been  a  more  sudden 
or  violent  outbreak.  The  whole  city  seemed  to  have 
turned  into  the  streets.  Not  until  the  era  of  the 
Eevolution,  a  century  and  a  half  later,  was  the  capital 
of  France  again  to  see  such  an  uprising  of  the  peo 
ple  against  the  court.  Broussel  had  been  arrested, 
Councillor  Broussel,  a  favorite  of  the  populace,  an 
opponent  of  the  court  party,  and  at  once  the  city 
was  ablaze;  for  the  first  time  in  the  history  of 
Prance  had  the  people  risen  in  support  of  their 
representatives. 

It  was  by  no  means  the  first  time  that  royalty  had 
ended  its  disputes  with  the  Parliament  in  this  sum 
mary  manner.  Four  years  previously,  Anne  of 
Austria,  the  queen-regent,  had  done  the  same  thing, 
and  scarce  a  voice  had  been  raised  in  protest.  But 
in  the  ensuing  four  years  public  opinion  had  changed. 
The  king,  Louis  XIY.,  was  but  ten  years  old ;  his 
mother,  aided  by  her  favorite  minister,  Cardinal 
Mazarin,  ruled  the  kingdom,— misruled  it,  as  the 
people  thought ;  the  country  was  crushed  under  its 
weight  of  taxes ;  the  finances  were  in  utter  disorder ; 
France  was  successful  abroad,  but  her  successes  had 
224 


THE   PARLIAMENT   OF   PAEIS.  225 

been  dearly  bought,  and  the  people  groaned  under 
the  burden  of  their  victories.  Parliament  made 
itself  the  mouth-piece  of  the  public  discontent.  It 
no  longer  felt  upon  it  the  iron  hand  of  Eichelieu, 
Mazarin  was  able,  but  he  was  not  a  master,  and  the 
Parliament  began  once  more  to  claim  that  authority 
in  affairs  of  state  from  which  it  had  been  deposed 
by  the  great  cardinal.  A  conflict  arose  between  the 
members  and  the  court  which  soon  led  to  acts  of 
open  hostility. 

An  edict  laying  a  tax  upon  all  provisions  which 
entered  Paris  irritated  the  citizens,  and  the  Parlia 
ment  refused  to  register  it.  Other  steps  towards 
independence  were  taken  by  the  members.  Grad 
ually  they  resumed  their  old  rights,  and  the  court 
party  was  forced  to  yield.  But  courage  returned  to 
the  queen-regent  with  the  news  that  the  army  of 
France  had  gained  a  great  victory.  No  sooner  had 
the  tidings  reached  Paris  than  the  city  was  electrified 
by  hearing  that  President  Brancmesnil  and  Council 
lor  Broussel  had  been  arrested. 

It  was  the  arrest  of  Broussel  that  stirred  the  pop 
ular  heart.  Mazarin  and  the  queen  had  made  the 
dangerous  mistake  of  not  taking  into  account  the 
state  of  the  public  mind.  "  There  was  a  blaze  at 
once,  a  sensation,  a  rush,  an  outcry,  and  a  shutting 
up  of  shops."  The  excitement  of  the  people  was  in 
tense.  Moment  by  moment  the  tumult  grew  greater. 
"  Broussel !  Broussel !"  they  shouted.  That  perilous 
populace  had  arisen  which  was  afterwards  to  show 
what  frightful  deeds  it  could  do  under  the  impulse 
of  oppression  and  misgovernment. 
in.-- 3> 


226  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

Paul  do  Gondi,  afterwards  known  as  Cardinal  de 
Ketz,  then  coadjutor  of  the  Archbishop  of  Paris,  and 
the  leading  spirit  with  the  populace,  hurried  to  the 
palace,  accompanied  by  Marshal  de  la  Meilleraie. 

"  The  city  is  in  a  frightful  state,"  they  told  the 
queen.  "  The  people  are  furious  and  may  soon  grow 
unmanageable.  The  air  is  full  of  revolt." 

Anne  of  Austria  listened  to  them  with  set  lips  and 
angry  eyes. 

"  There  is  revolt  in  imagining  there  can  be  revolt," 
she  sternly  replied.  "  These  are  the  ridiculous  stories 
of  those  who  favor  trouble ;  the  king's  authority  will 
soon  restore  order.'' 

M.  de  Guitant,  an  old  courtier,  who  entered  as  she 
was  speaking,  declared  that  the  coadjutor  had  barely 
represented  the  facts,  and  said  that  he  did  not  see 
how  anybody  could  sleep  with  things  in  such  a  state. 

"Well,  M.  de  Guitant,  and  what  is  your  advice?" 
asked  De  Eetz. 

"  My  advice  is  to  give  up  that  old  rascal  of  a  Brous- 
sel,  dead  or  alive." 

'•  To  give  him  up  dead,"  said  the  coadjutor,  "  would 
not  accord  with  either  the  piety  or  the  prudence  of 
the  queen;  to  yield  him  alive  might  quiet  the 
people." 

The  queen  turned  to  him  a  face  hot  with  anger, 
and  exclaimed, — 

"I  understand  you,  Mr.  Coadjutor;  you  would 
have  me  set  Broussel  at  liberty.  I  would  strangle 
him  with  these  hands  first!"  As  she  finished  these 
words  she  put  her  hands  close  to  the  coadjutor's 
face,  and  added,  in  a  threatening  tone,  "  And  those 


THE   PARLIAMENT   OF   PARIS.  227 

who "  Her  voice  ceased;  he  was  left  to  infer 

the  rest. 

Yet,  despite  this  infatuation  of  the  queen,  it  was 
evident  that  something  must  be  done,  if  Paris  was  to 
be  saved.  The  people  grew  more  tumultuous.  Fresh 
tidings  continued  to  come  in,  each  more  threatening 
than  the  last.  The  queen  at  length  yielded  so  far  as 
to  promise  that  Broussel  should  be  set  free  if  the 
people  would  first  disperse  and  cease  their  tumultu 
ous  behavior. 

The  coadjutor  was  bidden  to  proclaim  this  in  the 
streets.  He  asked  for  an  order  to  sustain  him,  but 
the  queen  refused  to  give  it,  and  withdrew  "to  her 
little  gray  room,"  angry  at  herself  for  yielding  so  far 
as  she  had. 

De  Eetz  did  not  find  the  situation  a  very  pleasant 
one  for  himself.  Mazarin  pushed  him  gently  towards 
the  door,  saying,  "  Eestore  the  peace  of  the  realm." 
Marshal  Meilleraie  drew  him  onward.  He  went  into 
the  street,  wearing  his  robe  of  office,  and  bestowing 
benedictions  right  and  left,  though  while  doing  so 
his  mind  was  busy  in  considering  how  he  was  going 
to  get  out  of  the  difficulty  which  lay  before  him. 

It  grew  worse  instead  of  better.  Marshal  Meille 
raie,  losing  his  head  through  excitement,  advanced 
waving  his  sword  in  the  air,  and  shouting  at  the  top 
of  his  voice, — 

"  Hurrah  for  the  king !     Liberation  for  Broussel !" 

This  did  very  well  for  those  within  hearing ;  but 
his  sword  provoked  far  more  than  his  voice  quieted ; 
those  at  a  distance  looked  on  his  action  as  a  menace, 
and  their  fury  was  augmented.  On  all  sides  there 


228  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

was  a  rush  for  arms.  Stones  were  flung  by  tke 
rioters,  one  of  which  struck  De  Eetz  and  felled  him 
to  the  earth.  As  he  picked  himself  up  an  excited 
youth  rushed  at  him  and  put  a  musket  to  his  head. 
Only  the  wit  and  readiness  of  the  coadjutor  saved 
him  from  imminent  peril. 

"  Though  I  did  not  know  him  a  bit,"  says  De  Eetz, 
in  his  "Memoirs,"  "I  thought  it  would  not  be  well 
to  let  him  suppose  so  at  such  a  moment ;  on  the  con 
trary,  I  said  to  him,  i  Ah,  wretch,  if  thy  father  saw 
theef  He  thought  I  was  the  best  friend  of  his 
father,  on  whom,  however,  I  had  never  set  eyes." 

The  fellow  withdrew,  ashamed  of  his  violence,  and 
before  any  further  attack  could  be  made  upon  DC 
Eetz  he  was  recognized  by  the  people  and  dragged  to 
the  market-place,  constantly  crying  out  as  he  went, 
"  The  queen  has  promised  to  restore  Broussel." 

The  good  news  by  this  time  had  spread  through 
the  multitude,  whose  cries  of  anger  were  giving 
place  to  shouts  of  joy.  Their  arms  were  hastily  dis 
posed  of,  and  a  great  throng,  thirty  or  forty  thou 
sand  in  number,  followed  the  coadjutor  to  the  Palais- 
Eoyal.  When  he  entered,  Marshal  Meilleraie  turned 
to  the  queen  and  said, — 

"  Madame,  here  is  he  to  whom  I  owe  my  life,  and 
your  Majesty  the  safety  of  the  Palais-Eoyal." 

The  queen's  answer  was  an  incredulous  smile.  On 
seeing  it,  the  hasty  temper  of  the  marshal  broke  out 
in  an  oath. 

"Madame,"  he  said,  hotly,  "no  proper  man  can 
venture  to  flatter  you  in  the  state  in  which  things 
are ;  and  if  you  do  not  this  very  day  set  Broussel  at 


THE   PARLIAMENT   OF   PARIS.  229 

liberty,  to-morrow  there  will  not  be  left  one  stone 
upon  an  other  in  Paris." 

Anne  of  Austria,  carried  away  by  her  pride  and 
superciliousness,  could  not  be  brought  to  believe  that 
the  populace  would  dare  attempt  an  actual  revolt 
against  the  king.  De  Eetz  would  have  spoken  in 
support  of  the  marshal's  words,  but  she  cut  him 
short,  saying  in  a  tone  of  mockery, — 

"  Go  and  rest  yourse]f,  sir ;  you  have  worked  very 
hard." 

He  left  the  palace  in  a  rage.  It  was  increased 
when  word  was  brought  to  him  that  he  had  been 
ridiculed  at  the  supper-table  of  the  queen.  She  had 
gone  so  far  as  to  blame  him  for  increasing  the  tu 
mult,  and  threatened  to  make  an  example  of  him  and 
to  interdict  the  Parliament.  In  short,  the  exercise 
of  power  had  made  the  woman  mad.  De  Eetz  re 
flected.  If  the  queen  designed  to  punish  him,  she 
should  have  something  to  punish  him  for.  He  was 
not  the  man  to  be  made  a  cat's-paw  of. 

"We  are  not  in  such  bad  case  as  you  suppose, 
gentlemen,"  he  said  to  his  friends.  "There  is  an 
intention  of  crushing  the  public ;  it  is  for  me  to  de 
fend  it  from  oppression ;  to-morrow  before  mid-day 
I  shall  be  master  of  Paris." 

Anne  of  Austria  had  made  an  enemy  of  one  who 
had  been  her  strong  friend,  a  bold  and  restless  man, 
capable  of  great  deeds.  He  had  long  taken  pains  to 
make  himself  popular  in  Paris.  During  that  night 
he  and  his  emissaries  worked  in  secret  upon  the  peo 
ple.  Early  the  next  day  the  mob  was  out  again, 
arms  in  hand,  and  ripe  for  mischief.  The  chancellor, 
20 


230  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

on  his  way  to  the  Palace  of  Justice,  suddenly  found 
his  carriage  surrounded  by  these  rioters.  He  hastily 
sought  refuge  in  the  Hotel  de  Luynes.  The  mob 
followed  him,  pillaging  as  they  went,  destroying  the 
furniture,  seeking  the  fugitive.  He  had  taken  refuge 
in  a  small  chamber,  where,  thinking  that  his  last 
hour  had  come,  he  knelt  in  confession  before  his 
brother,  the  Bishop  of  Meaux.  Fortunately  for  him 
the  rioters  failed  to  discover  him,  and  were  led  away 
by  another  fancy. 

"  It  was  like  a  sudden  and  violent  conflagration 
lighted  up  from  the  Pont  Neuf  over  the  whole  city," 
says  De  Betz.  "  Everybody  without  exception  took 
up  arms.  Children  of  five  and  six  years  of  age  were 
seen  dagger  in  hand,  and  the  mothers  themselves 
carried  them.  In  less  than  two  hours  there  were  in 
Paris  more  than  two  hundred  barricades,  bordered 
with  flags  and  all  the  arms  that  the  League  had  left 
entire.  Everybody  cried  i  Hurrah  for  the  king !' 
but  echo  answered,  '  None  of  your  Mazarin !'  " 

It  was  an  incipient  revolution,  but  it  was  the  min 
ister  and  the  regent,  not  the  king,  against  whom  the 
people  had  risen,  its  object  being  the  support  of  the 
Parliament  of  Paris,  not  the  States  General  of  the 
kingdom.  France  was  not  yet  ready  for  the  radical 
work  reserved  for  a  later  day.  The  turbulent  Pari 
sians  were  in  the  street,  arms  in  hand,  but  they  had 
not  yet  lost  the  sentiment  of  loyalty  to  the  king.  A 
century  and  a  half  more  of  misrule  were  needed  to 
complete  this  transformation  in  the  national  idea. 

While  all  this  was  going  on,  the  coadjutor,  the  soul 
of  the  outbreak,  kept  at  home,  vowing  that  he  was 


THE   PARLIAMENT   OF   PAEIS.  231 

powerless  to  control  the  people.  At  an  early  nour 
the  Parliament  assembled  at  the  Palace  of  Justice, 
but  its  deliberations  were  interrupted  by  shouts  of 
"  Broussel !  Broussel !"  from  the  immense  multitude 
which  filled  every  adjoining  avenue.  Only  the  re 
lease  of  the  arrested  members  could  appease  the 
mob.  The  Parliament  determined  to  go  in  a  body 
and  demand  this  of  the  queen. 

Their  journey  was  an  eventful  one.  Paris  was  in 
insurrection.  Everywhere  they  found  the  people  in 
arms,  while  barricades  were  thrown  up  at  every 
hundred  paces.  Through  the  shouting  and  howling 
mob  they  made  their  way  to  the  queen's  palace,  the 
ushers  in  front,  with  their  square  caps,  the  members 
following  in  their  robes,  at  their  head  M.  Mole,  their 
premier  president. 

The  conference  with  the  queen  was  a  passionate 
one.  M.  Mole  spoke  for  the  Parliament,  representing 
to  the  queen  the  extreme  danger  Paris  was  in,  the 
peril  to  all  France,  unless  the  prisoners  were  released 
and  the  sedition  allayed.  He  spoke  to  a  woman 
"  who  feared  nothing  because  she  knew  but  little," 
and  who  was  just  then  controlled  by  pride  and  pas 
sion  instead  of  reason. 

"  I  am  quite  aware  that  there  is  a  disturbance  in 
the  city,"  she  answered,  furiously;  "but  you  shall 
answer  to  me  for  it,  gentlemen  of  the  Parliament, 
you,  your  wives,  and  your  children." 

With  further  threats  that  the  king  would  remem 
ber  the  cause  of  these  evils,  when  he  reached  his 
majority,  the  incensed  woman  flouted  from  the 
chamber  of  audience,  slamming  the  door  violently 


232  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

behind  her.  To  deal  with  her,  in  her  present  mood, 
was  evidently  impracticable.  The  members  left  the 
palace  to  return.  They  quickly  found  themselves 
surrounded  by  an  angry  mob,  furious  at  their  non- 
success,  disposed  to  hold  them  responsible  for  the 
failure.  On  their  arrival  at  the  Eue  St.  Honore,  just 
as  they  were  about  to  turn  on  to  the  Pont  Neuf,  a 
band  of  about  two  hundred  men  advanced  threaten 
ingly  upon  them,  headed  by  a  cook-shop  lad,  armed 
with  a  halberd,  which  he  thrust  against  M.  Mole's 
body,  crying,— 

"  Turn,  traitor,  and  if  thou  wouldst  not  thyself  be 
slain,  give  up  to  us  Eroussel,  or  Mazarin  and  the 
chancellor  as  hostages." 

Mole  quietly  put  the  weapon  aside. 

"  You  forget  yourself,"  he  said,  with  calm  dignity, 
"and  are  oblivious  of  the  respect  you  owe  to  my 
office." 

The  mob,  however,  was  past  the  point  of  paying 
respect  to  dignitaries.  They  hustled  the  members, 
threatened  the  president  with  swords  and  pistols, 
and  several  times  tried  to  drag  him  into  a  private 
house.  But  he  resisted,  and  was  aided  by  members 
and  friends  who  surrounded  him.  Slowly  the  par 
liamentary  body  made  its  way  back  to  the  Palais- 
Eoyal,  whither  they  had  resolved  to  return,  M. 
Mole  preserving  his  dignity  of  mien  and  movement, 
despite  the  "  running  fire  of  insults,  threats,  execra 
tions,  and  blasphemies,"  that  arose  from  every  side. 
They  reached  the  palace,  at  length,  in  diminished 
numbers,  many  of  the  members  having  dropped  out 
of  the  procession. 


THE   PARLIAMENT   OF   PARIS.  233 

The  whole  court  was  assembled  in  the  gallery. 
Mole  spoke  first.  He  was  a  man  of  great  natural 
eloquence,  who  was  at  his  best  as  an  orator  when 
surrounded  by  peril,  and  he  depicted  the  situation  so 
graphically  that  all  present,  except  the  queen,  were 
in  terror.  "  Monsieur  made  as  if  he  would  throw 
himself  upon  his  knees  before  the  queen,  who  re 
mained  inflexible,"  says  De  Eetz  ;  "  four  or  five  prin 
cesses,  who  were  trembling  with  fear,  did  throw 
themselves  at  her  feet;  the  queen  of  England,  who 
had  come  that  day  from  St.  Germain,  represented 
that  the  troubles  had  never  been  so  serious  at  their 
commencement  in  England,  nor  the  feelings  so  heated 
or  united." 

Paris,  in  short,  was  on  the  eve  of  a  revolution,  and 
the  queen  could  not  be  made  to  see  it.  Cardinal 
Mazarin,  who  was  present,  and  who  had  been 
severely  dealt  with  in  the  speeches,  some  of  the 
orators  telling  him,  in  mockery,  that  if  he  would 
only  go  as  far  as  the  Pont  JSTeuf  he  would  learn  for 
himself  how  things  were,  now  joined  the  others  in 
entreating  Anne  of  Austria  to  give  way.  She  did 
so  at  length,  consenting  to  the  release  of  Broussel, 
though  "not  without  a  deep  sigh,  which  showed 
what  violence  she  did  her  feelings  in  the  struggle." 

It  is  an  interesting  spectacle  to  see  this  woman, 
moved  by  sheer  pride  and  obstinacy,  conjoined  with 
ignorance  of  the  actual  situation,  seeking  to  set  her 
single  will  against  that  of  a  city  in  revolt,  and  en 
dangering  the  very  existence  of  the  monarchy  by 
her  sheer  lack  of  reason.  Her  consent,  for  the  timo 
being,  settled  the  difficulty,  though  the  passiona 
20* 


234  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

which  had  been  aroused  were  not  easily  to  be  set  at 
rest.  Broussel  was  released  and  took  his  seat  again 
in  the  Parliament,  and  the  people  returned  to  their 
homes,  satisfied,  for  the  time,  with  their  victory  over 
the  queen  and  the  cardinal. 

In  truth,  a  contest  had  arisen  which  was  yet  to 
yield  important  consequences.  The  Prince  of  Conde 
had  arrived  in  Paris  during  these  events.  He  had 
the  prestige  of  a  successful  general ;  he  did  not  like 
the  cardinal,  but  he  looked  on  the  Parliament  as  im 
prudent  and  insolent. 

"  If  I  should  join  hands  with  them,"  he  said  to 
De  Eetz,  "  it  might  be  best  for  my  interests,  but  my 
name  is  Louis  de  Bourbon,  and  I  do  not  wish  to 
shake  the  throne.  These  devils  of  square-caps,  are 
they  mad  about  bringing  me  either  to  commence  a 
civil  war,  or  to  put  a  rope  round  their  own  necks  ? 
I  will  let  them  see  that  they  are  not  the  potentates 
they  think  themselves,  and  that  they  may  easily  be 
brought  to  reason." 

"The  cardinal  may  possibly  be  mistaken  in  his 
measures,"  answered  De  Eetz.  "  He  will  find  Paris 
a  hard  nut  to  crack." 

"  It  will  not  be  taken,  like  Dunkerque,  by  mining 
and  assaults,"  retorted  the  prince,  angrily ;  "  but 
if  the  bread  of  Gonesse  were  to  fail  them  for  a 

week "  He  left  the  coadjutor  to  imagine  the 

consequences. 

The  contest  continued.  In  January,  1649,  the 
queen,  the  boy  king,  and  the  whole  court  set  out  by 
night  for  the  castle  of  St.  Germain.  It  was  un 
tarnished,  with  scarcely  a  bundle  of  straw  to  lie 


THE   PARLIAMENT   OF   PARIS.  235 

upon,  but  the  queen  could  not  have  been  more  gay 
"  had  she  won  a  battle,  taken  Paris,  and  had  all  who 
had  displeased  her  hanged,  and  nevertheless  she  wag 
very  far  from  all  that." 

Far  enough,  indeed.  Paris  was  in  the  hands  of 
her  enemies,  who  were  as  gay  as  the  queen.  On  the 
8th  of  January  the  Parliament  of  Paris  decreed 
Cardinal  Mazarin  an  enemy  to  the  king  and  the  state, 
and  bade  all  subjects  of  the  king  to  hunt  him  down. 
War  was  declared  against  the  queen  regent  and  her 
favorite,  the  cardinal.  Had  it  been  the  States-General 
in  place  of  the  Parliament,  the  French  Eevolution 
might  have  then  and  there  begun. 

Many  of  the  greatest  lords  joined  the  side  of  the 
people.  Troops  were  levied  in  the  city,  their  com 
mand  being  offered  to  the  Prince  of  Conti.  The 
Parliaments  of  Aix  and  Eouen  voted  to  support  that 
of  Paris.  It  was  decreed  that  all  the  royal  funds, 
in  the  exchequers  of  the  kingdom,  should  be  seized 
and  used  for  the  defence  of  the  people.  All  was 
festivity  in  the  city.  The  versatile  people  seemed  to 
imagine  that  to  declare  war  was  to  decree  victory. 
There  was  dancing  everywhere  within  the  walls. 
There  was  the  rumble  of  war  without.  The  Prince 
of  Conde,  at  the  head  of  the  king's  troops,  had  taken 
the  post  of  Charentin  from  the  Frondeurs,  as  the 
malcontents  called  themselves,  and  had  carried  out 
his  threat  of  checking  the  flow  of  bread  to  the  city. 
The  gay  Parisians  were  beginning  to  feel  the  incon 
venience  of  hunger. 

What  followed  is  too  long  a  story  to  be  told  here, 
except  in  bare  epitome.  A  truce  was  patched  up 


236  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

between  the  contending  parties.  Bread  flowed  again 
into  Paris.  The  scared  and  hungry  people  grew 
courageous  and  violent  again  when  their  appetites 
were  satisfied.  When  M.  Mole  and  his  fellows  re 
turned  to  Paris  with  a  treaty  of  peace  which  they 
had  signed,  the  populace  gathered  round  them  in 
fury. 

"  None  of  your  peace !  None  of  your  Mazarin  I" 
they  angrily  shouted.  "  We  must  go  to  St.  Germain 
to  seek  our  good  king  !  We  must  fling  into  the  river 
all  the  Mazarins." 

One  of  them  laid  his  hand  threateningly  on  Presi 
dent  Mole's  arm.  The  latter  looked  him  in  the  face 
calmly. 

"  When  you  have  killed  me/'  he  said,  quietly,  "  I 
shall  only  need  six  feet  of  earth." 

"  You  can  get  back  to  your  house  secretly  by  way 
of  the  record  offices,"  whispered  one  of  his  com 
panions. 

"  The  court  never  hides  itself,"  he  composedly  re 
plied.  "  If  I  were  certain  to  perish,  I  would  not 
commit  this  poltroonery,  which,  moreover,  would  but 
give  courage  to  the  rioters.  They  would  seek  me  in 
my  house  if  they  thought  I  shrank  from  them  here." 

M.  Mole  was  a  man  of  courage.  To  face  a  mob  is 
at  times  more  dangerous  than  to  face  an  army. 

Paris  was  in  disorder.  The  agitation  was  spread 
ing  all  over  France.  But  the  army  was  faithful  to 
the  king,  and  without  it  the  Fronde  was  powerless. 
The  outbreak  had  ended  in  a  treaty  of  peace  and 
amnesty  in  which  the  Parliament  had  in  a  measure 
won,  as  it  had  preserved  all  its  rights  and  privileges. 


THE   PARLIAMENT   OP   PARIS.  237 

It  was  to  be  a  short  peace.  Conde,  elated  by 
having  beaten  the  Fronde,  claimed  a  lion's  share  in 
the  government.  His  brother,  the  Prince  of  Conti, 
and  his  sister,  the  Duchess  of  Longueville,  joined  him 
in  these  pretensions.  The  affair  ended  in  a  bold  stej: 
on  the  part  of  Mazarin  and  the  queen.  The  two 
princes  and  M.  de  Longueville  were  arrested  and 
conveyed  to  the  castle  of  Yincennes,  while  the  prin 
cesses  were  ordered  to  retire  to  their  estates,  and  the 
Duchess  of  Longueville,  fearing  arrest,  fled  in  haste 
to  Normandy. 

For  the  present  the  star  of  the  cardinal  was  in 
the  ascendant.  But  his  master-stroke  set  war  on 
foot  again.  The  Parliament  of  Paris  supported  the 
princes.  Their  partisans  rallied.  Bordeaux  broke 
into  insurrection.  Elsewhere  hot  blood  declared  itself. 
The  Duke  of  Orleans  joined  the  party  of  the  prisoners. 
The  Parliament  enjoined  all  the  officers  of  the  crown 
to  obey  none  but  the  duke,  the  lieutenant-general  of 
the  kingdom.  On  the  night  of  February  6,  1651, 
Mazarin  set  out  again  for  St.  Germain.  Paris  had 
become  far  too  hot  to  hold  him. 

The  tidings  of  his  flight  brought  the  people  into 
the  streets  again.  The  Duke  of  Orleans  informed 
Cardinal  de  Eetz  that  the  queen  proposed  to  follow 
her  flying  minister,  with  the  boy  king. 

"  What  is  to  be  done  ?"  he  asked,  somewhat  help 
lessly.  "  It  is  a  bad  business ;  but  how  are  we  to 
stop  it  ?" 

"  How  ?"  cried  the  more  practical  De  Eetz ;  "  why, 
by  shutting  the  gates  of  Paris,  to  begin  with.  The 
king  must  uot  go." 


238  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

Within  an  hour  the  emissaries  of  the  ready  coad 
jutor  were  rousing  up  the  people  right  and  left  with 
the  tidings  of  the  projected  flight  of  the  queen  with 
her  son.  Soon  the  city  swarmed  again  with  armed 
and  angry  men,  the  gates  were  seized,  mounted 
guards  patrolled  the  streets,  the  crowd  surged  towards 
the  Palais-Eoyal. 

Within  the  palace  all  was  alarm  and  confusion. 
Anne  of  Austria  had  indeed  been  on  the  point  of 
flight.  Her  son  was  in  his  travelling-dress.  But  the 
people  were  at  the  door,  clamoring  to  see  the  king, 
threatening  dire  consequences  if  the  doors  were  not 
opened  to  them.  They  could  not  long  be  kept  out ; 
some  immediate  action  must  be  taken.  The  boy's 
travelling-attire  was  quickly  replaced  by  his  night 
dress,  and  he  was  laid  in  bed,  his  mother  cautioning 
him  to  lie  quiet  and  feign  sleep. 

"  The  king !  we  must  see  the  king !"  came  the 
vociferous  cry  from  the  street.  "  Open !  the  people 
demand  to  see  their  king." 

The  doors  were  forced ;  the  mob  was  in  the  palace ; 
clamor  and  tumult  reigned  below  the  royal  chambers. 
The  queen  sent  word  to  the  people  that  the  king  was 
asleep  in  his  bed.  They  might  enter  and  see  him  if 
they  would  promise  to  tread  softly  and  keep  strict 
silence.  This  message  at  once  stopped  the  tumult; 
the  noise  subsided  ;  the  people  began  to  file  into  the 
room,  stepping  as  noiselessly  as  though  shod  with 
down,  gazing  with  awed  eyes  on  the  seemingly 
sleeping  face  of  the  boy  king. 

The  queen  stood  at  the  pillow  of  her  son,  a  grace 
ful  and  beautiful  woman,  her  outstretched  arm  hold- 


THE   PARLIAMENT   OF   PARIS.  239 

ing  back  the  heavy  folds  of  the  drapery,  her  face 
schooled  to  quiet  repose.  Louis  lay  with  closed  eyes 
and  regular  breathing,  playing  his  part  well.  For 
hours  a  stream  of  the  men  and  women  of  Paris 
flowed  through  the  chamber,  moving  in  reverential 
silence,  gazing  on  the  boy's  face  as  on  a  sacred  treas 
ure  of  their  own.  Till  three  o'clock  in  the  morning 
the  movement  continued,  the  queen  standing  all  this 
time  like  a  beautiful  statue,  her  son  still  feigning 
slumber.  It  was  a  scene  of  remarkable  and  pic 
turesque  character. 

That  night  of  strain  and  excitement  passed.  The 
king  was  with  them  still,  of  that  the  people  were 
assured ;  he  must  remain  with  them,  there  must  be 
an  end  of  midnight  flights.  The  patrol  was  kept  up, 
the  gates  watched,  the  king  was  a  prisoner  in  the 
hands  of  the  Parisians. 

"  The  king,  our  master,  is  a  captive,"  said  M.  Mole, 
voicing  to  the  Parliament  the  queen's  complaint. 

"  He  was  a  captive,  in  the  hands  of  Mazarin,"  replied 
the  Duke  of  Orleans ;  "  but,  thank  God,  he  is  so  no 
longer." 

The  people  had  won.  Mazarin  was  beaten.  He 
hastened  to  La  Havre,  where  the  princes  were  then 
confined,  and  set  them  at  liberty  himself.  His  power 
in  France,  for  the  time,  was  at  an  end.  He  made 
his  way  to  the  frontier,  which  he  crossed  on  the  12th 
of  March.  He  was  just  in  time :  the  Parliament  of 
Paris  had  issued  orders  for  his  arrest,  wherever  found 
in  France. 

WQ  must  end  here,  with  this  closing  of  the  contest 
between  Mazarin  and  the  Fronde.  History  goes  on 


240  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

to  tell  that  the  contest  was  reopened,  Mazarin  re* 
turned,  there  was  battle  in  Paris,  the  Fronde  failed, 
and  Mazarin  died  in  office. 

The  popular  outbreak  here  briefly  chronicled  is  of 
interest  from  the  fact  that  it  immediately  followed 
the  success  of  the  insurrection  in  England  and  the 
execution  of  Charles  I.  The  provocation  was  the 
same  in  the  two  nations ;  the  result  highly  different. 
In  both  cases  it  was  a  revolt  against  the  tyranny  of 
the  court  and  the  attempt  to  establish  absolutism. 
But  the  difference  in  results  lay  in  the  fact  that 
England  had  a  single  parliament,  composed  of  poli 
ticians,  while  France  had  ten  parliaments,  composed 
of  magistrates,  and  unaccustomed  to  handle  great 
questions  of  public  policy.  Eichelieu  had  taken  from 
the  civic  parliaments  of  France  what  little  power 
they  possessed,  and  they  were  but  shadowy  proto 
types  of  the  English  representative  assembly.  "  With 
out  any  unity  of  action  or  aim,  and  by  turns  excited 
and  dismayed  by  the  examples  that  came  to  them 
from  England,  the  Frondeurs  had  to  guide  them  no 
Hampden  or  Cromwell ;  they  had  at  their  backs 
neither  people  nor  army ;  the  English  had  been  able 
to  accomplish  a  revolution ;  the  Fronde  failed  before 
the  dexterous  prudence  of  Mazarin  and  the  queen's 
fidelity  to  her  minister." 

There  lay  before  France  a  century  and  a  half  of 
autocratic  rule  and  popular  suffering;  then  was  to 
come  the  convening  of  the  States-General,  the  rise 
of  the  people,  and  the  final  downfall  of  absolute 
royalty  and  feudal  privileges  in  the  red  tide  of  the 
Revolution. 


A  MARTYR  TO  HIS  PROFESSION. 

THE  grounds  of  the  Chateau  de  Chantilly,  that 
charming  retreat  of  the  Prince  de  Conde,  shone  with 
all  the  splendor  which  artistic  adornments,  gleaming 
lanterns  of  varied  form  and  color,  splendidly-cos 
tumed  dames  and  richly-attired  cavaliers  could  give 
them,  the  whole  scene  having  a  fairy-like  beauty 
and  richness  wonderfully  pleasing  to  the  eye.  For 
more  than  a  mile  from  the  entrance  to  the  grounds 
men  holding  lighted  torches  bordered  the  road,  while 
in  all  the  villages  leading  thither  the  peasants  were 
out  in  their  gala  attire,  and  triumphal  arches  of 
verdure  were  erected  in  honor  of  the  king,  Louis 
XIY.,  who  was  on  his  way  thither  to  visit  Monsieur 
le  Prince. 

He  was  coming,  the  great  Louis,  the  Grand 
Monarque  of  France,  and  noble  and  peasant  alike 
were  out  to  bid  him  welcome,  while  the  artistic  skill 
of  the  day  had  exhausted  itself  in  efforts  to  provide 
him  a  splendid  reception.  And  now  there  could  be 
heard  on  the  road  the  trampling  of  horses,  the 
clanking  of  swords,  the  voices  of  approaching  men, 
and  a  gallant  cavalcade  wheeled  at  length  into  the 
grounds,  announcing  that  the  king  was  close  at  hand. 
A  few  minutes  of  anxious  expectation  passed,  and 
III.— L  q  21  241 


242  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

then  the  king,  attended  by  a  large  group  of  courtiers, 
came  sweeping  grandly  forward,  while  at  the  same 
moment  a  gleaming  display  of  fireworks,  at  the  end 
of  the  avenue,  blazed  off  in  fiery  greeting.  As  the 
coruscating  lights  faded  out  Conde  met  the  king  in 
his  coach,  which  he  invited  him  to  enter,  and  off 
they  drove  to  the  Chateau,  followed  by  a  shining 
swarm  of  grand  dames  and  great  lords  who  had 
gathered  to  this  fete  from  all  parts  of  France. 

Within  the  chateau  as  much  had  been  done  as 
without  to  render  honor  to  the  occasion.  Hundreds 
of  retainers  lined  chamber  and  hall  in  splendid  attire, 
their  only  duty  being  to  add  life  and  richness  to  the 
scene.  The  rooms  were  luxuriously  furnished,  the 
banqueting  hall  was  a  scene  for  a  painter,  and  the 
banquet  a  triumph  of  the  art  of  the  cuisine,  for  was 
it  not  prepared  by  the  genius  of  Yatel,  the  great 
Yatel,  the  most  famous  of  cooks  ministering  to  the 
most  showy  of  monarchs ! 

All  went  well;  the  king  feasted  on  delicacies  which 
were  a  triumph  of  art ;  Louis  was  satisfied ;  Yatel 
triumphed;  so  far  the  fete  was  a  success.  In  the 
evening  the  king  played  at  piquet,  the  cavaliers  and 
ladies  promenaded  through  the  splendidly-furnished 
and  richly-lighted  saloons,  some  cracked  jokes  on 
sofas,  some  made  love  in  alcoves,  still  all  went  well. 

For  the  next  day  the  programme  included  a  grand 
promenade  a  la  mode,  de  Versailles,  a  collation  in  the 
park,  under  great  trees  laden  with  the  freshest 
verdure  of  spring,  a  stag-hunt  by  moonlight,  a  bril 
liant  display  of  fireworks,  then  a  supper  in  the  ban 
queting  hall  of  the  chateau.  And  still  all  went  well 


A  MARTYR  TO   HIS  PROFESSION.  243 

At  least  all  thought  so  but  Yatel ;  but  as  for  that 
prince  of  cooks,  he  was  in  despair.  A  frightful 
disaster  had  occurred.  After  the  days  and  nights  of 
anxiety  and  care  in  preparing  for  this  grand  occa 
sion,  for  a  failure  now  to  take  place,  it  was  to  him 
unpardonable,  unsupportable. 

Tidings  of  his  distress  were  brought  to  Conde. 
The  generous  prince  sought  his  room  to  console 
him. 

"  Yatel,"  said  he,  "  what  is  this  I  hear  ?  The  king's 
supper  was  superb." 

"  Monseigneur,"  said  Yatel,  tears  in  his  eyes,  the 
roti  was  wanting  at  two  tables." 

"  Not  at  all,"  replied  the  prince.  "  You  surpassed 
yourself;  nothing  could  have  been  better;  every 
thing  was  perfect." 

Yatel,  somewhat  relieved  by  this  praise,  sought 
his  couch,  and  a  morsel  of  sleep  visited  his  eyelids. 
But  the  shadow  of  doom  still  hung  over  his  career. 
By  break  of  day  he  was  up  again.  Others  might  lie 
late  abed,  but  there  could  be  no  such  indulgence  for 
him ;  for  was  not  he  the  power  behind  the  throne  ? 
What  would  this  grand  fete  be  should  his  genius  fail, 
his  powers  prove  unequal  to  the  strain  ?  King  and 
prince,  lord  and  lady  might  slumber,  but  Yatel  must 
be  up  and  alert. 

Fresh  fish  formed  an  essential  part  of  the  menu 
which  he  had  laid  out  for  the  dining-tables  of  the 
third  day.  He  had  ordered  them  from  every  part 
of  the  coast.  Would  they  come  ?  Could  the  fates 
fail  him  now,  at  this  critical  moment  of  his  life? 
The  anxious  chief  went  abroad  to  view  the  situation. 


244  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

His  eyes  lighted.  A  fisher-boy  had  just  arrived  with 
two  loads  of  fish,  fresh  brought  from  the  coast. 
Yatel  looked  at  them,  and  then  gazed  around  with 
newly  disturbed  eyes. 

"Is  that  all?"  he  asked,  his  voice  faltering. 

"  That  is  all,  sir,"  answered  the  boy,  who  knew 
nothing  about  the  numerous  orders. 

Yatel  turned  pale.  All?  These  few  fish  all  he 
had  to  offer  his  multitude  of  guests  ?  Only  a  miracle 
could  divide  these  so  as  to  give  a  portion  to  each. 
He  waited,  despair  slowly  descending  upon  his  heart. 
In  vain  his  anxious  wait ;  no  more  fish  appeared. 
Yatel' s  anxiety  was  fast  becoming  despair.  The 
disaster  of  the  night  before,  to  be  followed  by  this 
terrible  stroke — it  was  more  than  his  artistic  soul 
could  bear ;  disgrace  had  come  upon  him  in  its  direst 
form ;  his  reputation  was  at  stake. 

He  met  Gourville,  a  wit  and  factotum  of  the  court, 
and  told  him  of  his  misfortune. 

"It  is  disgrace,  ruin,"  he  cried;  "I  cannot  sur 
vive  it." 

Gourville  heard  him  with  merry  laughter.  To  his 
light  mind  the  affair  seemed  only  a  good  joke.  It 
was  not  so  to  Yatel.  He  sought  his  room  and  locked 
himself  in. 

He  was  too  soon,  alas,  too  soon ;  for  now  fish  are 
coming;  here,  there,  everywhere;  the  orders  have 
been  strictly  obeyed,  there  is  abundance  for  all  pur 
poses.  The  cooks  receive  them,  and  look  for  Yatel 
to  give  orders  for  their  disposal.  He  is  not  to  be 
seen.  "  He  went  to  his  room,"  says  Gourville.  They 
repair  thither,  knock  persistently,  but  in  vain,  and 


A   MARTYR  TO   HIS   PROFESSION.  245 

finding  that  no  answer  can  be  obtained,  they  break 
open  the  door  and  enter. 

A  frightful  spectacle  meets  their  eyes.  On  the 
floor  before  them  lies  poor  Yatel,  in  a  pool  of  his 
own  blood,  pierced  through  the  heart.  In  his  ec 
stasy  of  despair  at  the  non-arrival  of  the  fish,  he 
had  fastened  his  sword  in  the  door,  and  thrown 
himself  upon  its  deadly  point.  Thrice  he  had  done 
so,  twice  wounding  himself  slightly,  the  third  time 
piercing  himself  through  the  heart.  Poor  fellow !  he 
was  dead,  and  the  fish  had  arrived.  It  was  a  useless 
sacrifice  of  his  life  to  his  art. 

The  tidings  of  the  tragedy  filled  the  chateau  with 
alarm  and  dismay.  The  prince  was  in  despair,  the 
more  so  as  the  king  blamed  him  for  the  fatal  occur 
rence.  He  had  long  avoided  Chantilly,  he  said,  know 
ing  that  his  coming  would  occasion  inconvenience, 
since  his  host  would  insist  on  providing  for  the 
whole  of  his  suite.  There  should  have  been  but  two 
tables,  and  there  were  more  than  twenty-five;  the 
strain  on  £oor  Yatel  was  the  cause  of  his  death  and 
the  loss  of  one  of  the  ornaments  of  the  reign.  He 
would  never  allow  such  extravagance  again.  Men 
like  Yatel  were  not  to  be  so  lightly  sacrificed. 

While  the  king  thus  petulantly  scolded  his  great 
subject  in  the  time-honored  "  I  told  you  so"  fashion, 
the  whole  chateau  buzzed  with  opinions  about  the 
tragic  event.  "  Yatel  has  played  the  hero,"  said 
some ;  "  He  has  played  the  idiot,"  said  others.  Some 
praised  his  courage  and  devotion  to  his  art ;  others 
blamed  his  haste  and  folly.  But  praise  prevailed 
over  blame,  for,  as  all  conceded,  "he  had  died  for 
21* 


246  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

the  honor  of  his  profession,"  and  no  soldier  or  martyr 
could  do  more. 

But  Yatel  was  gone,  and  dinner  was  not  served. 
The  dead  was  dead,  but  appetite  remained.  What 
was  to  be  done  ?  Gourville  sprang  into  the  breach 
and  undertook  to  replace  Vatel.  The  fish  were 
cooked,  the  company  dined,  then  they  promenaded, 
then  they  played  piquet,  losing  and  winning  largely, 
then  they  supped,  then  they  enjoyed  a  moonlight 
chase  of  the  deer  in  the  park  of  Chantilly.  Mirth 
and  gayety  prevailed,  and  before  bedtime  came  poor 
Yatel  was  forgotten.  The  cook,  who  had  died  for 
his  art  was  as  far  from  their  thoughts  as  the  martyrs 
of  centuries  before. 

Early  the  next  day  the  king  and  his  train  departed, 
leaving  Conde  to  count  the  cost  of  the  entertainment, 
which  had  been  so  great  as  to  make  him  agree  with 
Louis,  that  hereafter  two  tables  would  be  better  than 
twenty-five.  Doubtless  among  his  chief  losses  he 
counted  Yatel.  Money  could  be  found  again,  waste 
repaired,  but  a  genius  of  the  kitchen  the  equal  of 
Yatel  was  not  to  be  had  to  order.  Men  like  him  are 
the  growth  of  centuries.  He  died  that  his  name 
might  live. 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON 
MASK. 

IN  the  year  1662,  the  first  year  of  the  absolute 
reign  of  Louis  XIV.,  there  occurred  an  event  without 
parallel  in  history,  and  which  still  remains  shrouded 
in  the  mystery  in  which  it  was  from  the  first  in 
volved.  There  was  sent  with  the  utmost  secrecy  to 
the  Chateau  of  Pignerol  an  unknown  prisoner,  whose 
identity  was  kept  secret  with  the  most  extreme  care. 
All  that  can  be  said  of  him  is  that  he  was  young, 
well- formed  and  attractive  in  appearance,  and  above 
the  usual  stature.  As  for  his  face,  whether  it  were 
handsome  or  ill-favored,  noble  or  base,  no  man  could 
say,  for  it  was  concealed  by  an  impenetrable  mask, 
the  lower  portion  of  which  was  made  movable  by 
steel  springs,  so  that  he  could  eat  with  it  on,  while 
the  upper  portion  was  immovably  fixed. 

This  mysterious  state  prisoner  remained  for  a  num 
ber  of  years  at  Pignerol,  under  charge  of  its  governor, 
M.  de  Saint  Mars,  an  officer  of  the  greatest  discre 
tion  and  trustworthiness.  He  was  afterwards  re 
moved  to  the  castle  of  the  Isle  of  Sainte  Marguerite, 
on  the  coast  of  Provence,  where  he  remained  for 
years  in  the  same  mysterious  seclusion,  an  object  of 
the  greatest  curiosity  on  the  part  of  all  the  people 
of  the  prison,  and  of  no  less  interest  to  the  people 

247 


248  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

of  the  kingdom,  to  whose  love  of  the  marvellous  the 
secrecy  surrounding  him  appealed.  The  mask  was 
never  removed,  day  or  night,  so  far  as  any  one  could 
learn,  while  conjecture  sought  in  vain  to  discover 
who  this  mysterious  personage  could  be. 

This  much  was  certain,  no  person  of  leading  im 
portance  had  disappeared  from  Europe  in  the  year 
1662.  On  the  other  hand,  the  masked  prisoner  was 
treated  with  a  consideration  which  could  be  looked 
for  only  by  persons  of  the  highest  birth.  The  Mar 
quis  of  Louvois,  minister  of  war  under  the  "  Grand 
Monarque,"  was  said  to  have  visited  him  at  Sainte 
Marguerite,  and  to  have  treated  him  with  the  respect 
due  to  one  of  royal  birth.  He  spoke  to  him  stand 
ing,  as  to  one  far  his  superior  in  station,  and  showed 
him  throughout  the  interview  the  greatest  deference. 

In  1698,  M.  de  Saint  Mars  was  made  governor  of 
the  Bastille.  He  brought  with  him  this  mysterious 
masked  prisoner,  whose  secret  it  was  apparently  not 
deemed  advisable  to  intrust  to  a  new  governor  of 
Sainte  Marguerite.  As  to  what  took  place  on  the 
journey,  we  have  some  interesting  details  in  a  letter 
from  M.  de  Formanoir,  grand  nephew  of  Saint  Mars. 

"  In  1698,  M.  de  Saint  Mars  exchanged  the  gov 
ernorship  of  the  islands  [Sainte  Marguerite  and 
Sainte  Honnat]  for  that  of  the  Bastille.  When  he 
set  out  to  enter  on  his  new  office  he  stayed  with  his 
prisoner  for  a  short  time  at  Palteau,  his  estate.  The 
mask  arrived  in  a  Utter  which  preceded  that  of  M. 
de  Saint  Mars ;  they  were  accompanied  by  several 
men  on  horseback.  The  peasants  went  out  to  meet 
their  seigneur.  M.  de  Saint  Mars  took  his  meals 


THE   MAN   WITH   THE   IRON   MASK.  249 

with  his  prisoner,  who  sat  with  his  back  towards  the 
windows  of  the  room,  which  looked  into  the  court- 
yard.  The  peasants  of  whom  I  made  inquiry  could 
not  see  if  he  had  his  mask  on  when  eating ;  but  they 
observed  that  M.  de  Saint  Mars,  who  sat  opposite  tc 
him  at  table,  had  a  pair  of  pistols  beside  his  plate, 
They  were  attended  by  a  single  valet  only,  Antoine 
Eu,  who  took  away  the  dishes  set  down  to  him  in  an 
antechamber,  having  first  carefully  shut  the  door 
of  the  dining-room.  When  the  prisoner  crossed  the 
court-yard  a  black  mask  was  always  on  his  face." 

The  extreme  caution  here  indicated  was  continued 
until  the  prisoner  reached  the  Bastille.  With  regard 
to  his  life  in  this  fortress  we  are  better  informed, 
since  it  must  be  acknowledged  that  the  record  of  his 
previous  prison  life  is  somewhat  obscure.  All  that 
seems  well  established  is  that  he  was  one  of  the  "two 
priscners  of  the  Lower  Tower"  at  Pignerol,  in  1681  ; 
that  he  was  spoken  of  to  Saint  Mars  as  "  your  ancient 
prisoner,"  and  "  your  prisoner  of  twenty  years'  stand 
ing  ;"  that  in  1687  he  was  removed  from  Exiles  to 
Sainte  Marguerite  with  the  same  care  and  secrecy  ob 
served  in  the  journey  to  the  Bastille,  his  jailer  accom 
panying  him  to  the  new  prison,  and  that  throughout 
he  was  under  the  care  of  the  relentless  Saint  Mars. 

Of  the  life  of  this  remarkable  state  prisoner  in  the 
Bastille  we  have  more  detailed  accounts.  Dujunca, 
the  chief  turnkey  of  that  prison,  has  left  a  journal, 
which  contains  the  following  entry :  "  On  Thursday, 
the  18th  September,  1698,  at  three  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon,  M.  de  Saint  Mars,  the  governor,  arrived 
at  the  Bastille  for  the  first  time  from  the  islands  of 


250  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

Sainte  Marguerite  and  Sainte  Honnat.  He  brought 
with  him  in  his  own  litter  an  ancient  prisoner  for 
merly  under  his  care  at  Pignerol,  and  whose  name 
remains  untold.  This  prisoner  was  always  kept 
masked,  and  was  at  first  lodged  in  the  Basiniere 
tower.  ...  I  conducted  him  afterwards  to  the  Ber- 
taudiere  tower,  and  put  him  in  a  room,  which,  by 
order  of  M.  de  Saint  Mars,  I  had  furnished  before 
his  arrival." 

Throughout  the  life  of  this  mysterious  personage 
in  the  Bastille,  the  secrecy  which  had  so  far  envi 
roned  him  was  rigidly  observed.  So  far  as  is  known, 
no  one  ever  saw  him  without  his  mask.  Aside  from 
this,  and  his  detention,  everything  that  could  be  was 
done  to  make  his  life  enjoyable.  He  was  given  the 
best  accommodation  the  Bastille  afforded.  Nothing 
that  he  desired  was  refused  him.  He  had  a  strong 
taste  for  lace  and  linen  of  extreme  fineness,  and  his 
wishes  in  this  particular  were  complied  with.  His 
table  was  always  served  in  the  most  elegant  manner, 
while  the  governor,  who  frequently  attended  him, 
seldom  sat  in  his  presence. 

During  his  intervals  of  ailment  he  was  attended  by 
the  old  doctor  of  the  Bastille,  who,  while  often  ex 
amining  his  tongue  and  parts  of  his  body,  never  saw 
his  face.  He  represents  him  as  very  finely  shaped, 
and  of  somewhat  brownish  complexion,  with  an 
agreeable  and  engaging  voice.  He  never  complained, 
nor  gave  any  hint  as  to  who  he  was,  and  throughout 
his  whole  prison  life  no  one  gained  the  least  clue  to 
his  identity.  The  only  instance  in  which  he  at 
tempted  to  make  himself  known  is  described  by 


THE   MAN   WITH   THE   IRON   MASK.  251 

Voltaire,  who  tells  us  that  while  at  Sainte  Marguerite 
he  threw  out  from  the  grated  window  of  his  cell  a 
piece  of  fine  linen,  and  a  silver  plate  on  which  he 
had  traced  some  strange  characters.  This,  however, 
is  an  unauthenticated  story. 

The  detention  of  this  mysterious  prisoner  in  the 
Bastille  was  not  an  extended  one.  He  died  in  1703. 
Dujunca's  journal  tells  the  story  of  his  death.  "  On 
Monday,  the  19th  of  November,  1703,  the  unknown 
prisoner,  who  had  continually  worn  a  black  velvet 
mask,  and  whom  M.  de  Saint  Mars  had  brought  with 
him  from  the  island  of  Sainte  Marguerite,  died  to-day 
at  about  ten  o'clock  in  the  evening,  having  been 
yesterday  taken  slightly  ill.  He  had  been  a  long 
time  in  M.  de  Saint  Mars's  hands,  and  his  illness  was 
exceedingly  trifling." 

There  is  one  particular  of  interest  in  this  record. 
The  "  iron  mask"  appears  to  have  been  really  a  mask 
of  black  velvet,  the  only  iron  about  it  being  the 
springs,  which  permitted  the  lower  part  to  be  lifted. 

The  question  now  arises,  Who  was  the  "  man  with 
the  iron  mask"?  It  is  a  question  which  has  been 
long  debated,  without  definite  conclusion.  Chamil- 
lard  was  the  last  minister  of  Louis  XIV.  who  knew 
this  secret.  When  he  was  dying,  his  son-in-law,  Mar 
shal  de  Feuillade,  begged  him  on  his  knees  to  reveal 
the  mystery.  He  begged  in  vain.  Chamillard  an 
swered  that  it  was  a  secret  of  state,  which  he  had 
sworn  never  to  reveal,  and  he  died  with  it  untold. 

Yoltaire,  in  his  "  Age  of  Louis  XIY./'  was  the 
first  to  call  special  attention  to  this  mystery,  and 
since  then  numerous  conjectures  have  been  made  as 


252  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

to  who  the  Iron  Mask  really  was.  One  writer  has 
suggested  that  he  was  an  illegitimate  son  of  Anne 
of  Austria,  the  queen-mother.  Another  identifies 
him  with  a  supposed  twin  brother  of  Louis  XIY., 
whose  birth  Eichelieu  had  concealed.  Others  make 
him  the  Count  of  Yermandois,  an  illegitimate  son  of 
Louis  XIY. ;  the  Duke  of  Beaufort,  a  hero  of  the 
Fronde ;  the  Duke  of  Monmouth,  the  English  pre 
tender  of  1685 ;  Fouquet,  Louis's  disgraced  minister 
of  finance ;  a  son  of  Cromwell,  the  English  protector ; 
and  various  other  wild  and  unfounded  guesses. 
After  all  has  been  said,  the  identity  of  the  prisoner 
remains  unknown.  Mattioli,  a  diplomatic  agent  of 
the  Duke  of  Mantua,  who  was  long  imprisoned  at 
Pignerol  and  at  Sainte  Marguerite,  was  for  a  long 
time  generally  thought  to  be  the  Iron  Mask,  but 
there  is  good  reason  to  believe  that  he  died  in  1694. 

Conjecture  has  exhausted  itself,  and  yet  the  iden 
tity  of  this  strange  captive  remains  a  mystery,  and 
is  likely  always  to  continue  so.  The  fact  that  all  the 
exalted  personages  of  the  day  can  be  traced  renders 
it  probable  that  the  veiled  prisoner  was  really  an 
obscure  individual,  whom  the  caprice  of  Louis  XIY. 
surrounded  with  conditions  intended  to  excite  the 
curiosity  of  the  public.  There  are  on  record  other 
instances  of  imprisonment  under  similar  conditions 
of  inviolate  secrecy,  and  it  is  not  impossible  that  the 
king  may  have  endeavored,  for  no  purpose  higher 
than  whim,  to  surround  the  story  of  this  one  with 
unbroken  mystery.  If  such  were  his  purpose  it  has 
succeeded,  for  there  is  no  more  mysterious  person  in 
history  than  the  Man  with  the  Iron  Mask. 


FRANCOIS  MARIE  AROUET  DE  VOLTAIRE. 


VOLTAIRE'S   LAST    VISIT    TO 
PARIS. 

NEVER  had  excitable  Paris  been  more  excited. 
Only  one  man  was  talked  of,  only  one  subject  thought 
of;  there  was  no  longer  interest  in  rumors  of  war, 
in  political  quarrels,  in  the  doings  at  the  king's  court ; 
all  admiration  and  all  sympathy  were  turned  towards 
one  feeble  old  man,  who  had  returned  to  Paris  to  die. 
For  twenty-seven  years  he  had  been  absent,  that 
brilliant  writer  and  unsurpassed  genius,  the  versatile 
Yoltaire.  His  facile  pen  had  given  its  greatest  glory 
to  the  reign  of  Louis  XY.,  yet  for  more  than  a  quar 
ter  of  a  century  he  had  been  exiled  from  the  land 
he  loved,  because  he  dared  to  exercise  the  privilege 
of  free  speech  in  that  land  of  oppression,  and  to  deal 
with  kings  and  nobles  as  man  with  man,  not  as  rev 
erent  worshipper  with  divinity.  Now,  in  his  eighty- 
fourth  year  of  age,  he  had  ventured  to  come  back  to 
the  city  he  loved  above  all  others,  with  scarcely 
enough  life  left  for  the  journey,  and  far  from  sure 
that  power  would  not  still  seek  to  suppress  genius  as 
it  had  done  in  the  past. 

If  he  had  such  fears,  there  was  no  warrant  for 
them.  Paris  was  ready  to  worship  him.  The  king 
himself  would  not  have  dared  to  interfere  with  the 
22  253 


254  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

popular  idol  in  that  interval  of  enthusiastic  ebul 
lition.  All  Paris  was  prepared  to  cast  itself  at  his 
feet;  all  France  was  eager  to  do  him  honor;  all 
calumny,  jealousy,  hatred  were  forgotten ;  a  nation 
had  risen  to  welcome  and  honor  its  greatest  man, 
and  the  splendors  of  the  court  paled  before  the  glory 
which  seemed  to  emanate  from  that  feeble,  tottering 
veteran  of  the  empire  of  thought,  who  had  come 
back  to  occupy,  for  a  brief  period,  the  throne  of  his 
old  dominion. 

The  admiration,  the  enthusiasm,  the  glory  were 
too  much  for  him.  He  was  dying  in  the  excitement 
of  joy  and  triumph.  Yet,  with  his  wonderful  elas 
ticity  of  frame  and  mind,  he  rose  again  for  a  fuller 
enjoyment  of  that  popular  ovation  which  was  to  him 
the  wine  of  life.  The  story  of  his  final  triumph  has 
been  so  graphically  told  by  an  eye-witness  that  we 
cannot  do  better  than  to  quote  his  words. 

"  M.  de  Yoltaire  has  appeared  for  the  first  time  at 
the  Academy  and  at  the  play ;  he  found  all  the  doors, 
all  the  approaches,  to  the  Academy  besieged  by  a 
multitude  which  only  opened  slowly  to  let  him  pass, 
and  then  rushed  in  immediately  upon  his  footsteps 
with  repeated  plaudits  and  acclamations.  The  Acad 
emy  came  out  into  the  first  room  to  meet  him,  an 
honor  it  had  never  yet  paid  to  any  of  its  members, 
not  even  to  the  foreign  princes  who  had  deigned  to 
be  present  at  its  meetings. 

"The  homage  he  received  at  the  Academy  was 
merely  the  prelude  to  that  which  awaited  him  at 
the  National  theatre.  As  soon  as  his  carriage  was 
seen  at  a  distance,  there  arose  a  universal  shout  of 


VOLTAIRE'S  LAST  VISIT  TO  PARIS.  255 

joy.  All  the  curb-stones,  all  the  barriers,  all  the 
windows,  were  crammed  with  spectators,  and  scarcely 
was  the  carriage  stopped  when  people  were  already 
on  the  imperial  and  even  on  the  wheels  to  get  a 
nearer  view  of  the  divinity.  Scarcely  had  he  entered 
the  house  when  Sicur  Brizard  came  up  with  a  crown 
of  laurels,  which  Madame  de  Yillette  placed  upon  the 
great  man's  head,  but  which  he  immediately  took  off, 
though  the  public  urged  him  to  keep  it  on  by  clap 
ping  of  hands  and  by  cheers  which  resounded  from 
all  parts  of  the  house  with  such  a  din  as  never  was 
heard. 

"  All  the  women  stood  up.  I  saw  at  one  time  that 
part  of  the  pit  which  was  under  the  boxes  go  down 
on  their  knees,  in  despair  of  getting  a  sight  any  other 
way.  The  whole  house  was  darkened  with  the  dust 
raised  by  the  ebb  and  flow  of  the  excited  multitude. 
It  was  not  without  difficulty  that  the  players  man 
aged  at  last  to  begin  the  piece.  It  was  <  Irene,' 
which  was  given  for  the  sixth  time.  Never  had  this 
tragedy  been  better  played,  never  less  listened  to, 
never  more  applauded.  The  illustrious  old  man  rose 
to  thank  the  public,  and,  a  moment  afterwards,  there 
appeared  on  a  pedestal  in  the  middle  of  the  stage  a 
bust  of  this  great  man,  and  the  actresses,  garlands 
and  crowns  in  hand,  covered  it  with  laurels. 

"  M.  de  Yoltaire  seemed  to  be  sinking  beneath  the 
burden  of  age  and  of  the  homage  with  which  he  had 
just  been  overwhelmed.  He  appeared  deeply  af 
fected,  his  eyes  still  sparkled  amidst  the  pallor  of  his 
face,  but  it  seemed  as  if  he  breathed  no  longer  save 
with  the  consciousness  of  his  glory.  The  people 


256  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

shouted,  f Lights!  lights!  that  everybody  may  see 
him  P  The  coachman  was  entreated  to  go  at  a  walk, 
and  thus  he  was  accompanied  by  cheering  and  the 
crowd  as  far  as  Pont  Koyal." 

This  was  a  very  different  greeting  from  that  which 
Yoltaire  had  received  fifty  years  before,  when  a  noble 
man  with  whom  he  had  quarrelled  had  him  beaten 
with  sticks  in  the  public  street,  and,  when  Yoltaire 
showed  an  inteniion  of  making  him  answer  at  the 
sword's  point  for  this  outrage,  had  him  seized  and 
thrown  into  the  Bastille  by  the  authorities.  This 
was  but  one  of  the  several  times  he  had  been  im 
mured  in  this  gloomy  prison  for  daring  to  say  what 
he  thought  about  powers  and  potentates.  But  tim^ 
brings  its  revenges.  The  Chevalier  de  Eohan,  who 
had  had  the  poet  castigated,  was  forgotten  except 
as  the  man  who  had  dishonored  himself  in  seeking 
to  dishonor  Yoltaire,  and  the  poet  had  become  the 
idol  of  the  people  of  Paris,  high  and  low  alike. 

Yoltaire  was  not  the  only  great  man  in  Paris  at 
this  period.  There  was  another  as  great  as  he,  but 
great  in  a  very  different  fashion, — Benjamin  Franklin, 
the  American  philosopher  and  statesman,  as  famous 
for  common  sense  and  public  spirit  as  Yoltaire  was 
for  poetical  power  and  satirical  keenness.  These  two 
great  men  met,  and  their  meeting  is  worthy  of  de 
scription.  The  American  envoys  had  asked  permis 
sion  to  call  on  the  veteran  of  literature,  a  request 
that  was  willingly  granted  when  Yoltaire  learned 
that  Franklin  was  one  of  the  number.  What  passed 
between  them  may  be  briefly  related. 

They  found  the  aged  poet  reclining  on  a  couch, 


VOLTAIRE'S  LAST  VISIT  TO  PARIS.  257 

thin  of  oody,  wrinkled  of  face,  evidently  sick  and 
feeble ;  yet  his  eyes,  "  glittering  like  two  carbuncles," 
showed  what  spirit  lay  within  his  withered  frame. 
As  they  entered,  he  raised  himself  with  difficulty, 
and  repeated  the  following  lines  from  Thomson's 
"  Ode  to  Liberty,"  a  poem  which  he  had  been  familiar 
with  in  England  fifty  years  before. 

"  Lo  I  swarming  southward  on  rejoicing  suns, 
Gay  colonies  extend,  the  calm  retreat 
Of  undisturbed  Distress,  the  better  home 
Of  those  whom  bigots  chase  from  foreign  lands ; 
Not  built  on  rapine,  servitude,  and  woe, 
And  in  their  turn  some  petty  tyrant's  prey  ; 
But,  bound  by  social  Freedom,  firm  they  rise." 

He  then  began  to  converse  with  Franklin  in  Eng 
lish  ;  but,  on  being  asked  by  his  niece  to  speak  in 
French,  that  she  and  others  present  might  understand 
what  was  said,  he  remarked, — 

"I  beg  your  pardon.  I  have,  for  the  moment, 
yielded  to  the  vanity  of  showing  that  I  can  speak  in 
the  language  of  a  Franklin." 

Shortly  afterwards,  Dr.  Franklin  presented  him  his 
grandson,  whereupon  the  old  man  lifted  his  hands 
over  the  head  of  the  youth,  and  said,  "My  child, 
God  and  liberty !  Eecollect  those  two  words." 

This  was  not  the  only  scene  between  Franklin  and 
Voltaire.  Another  took  place  at  the  Academy  of 
Sciences  at  one  of  the  meetings  of  that  body.  The 
two  distinguished  guests  sat  side  by  side  on  the  plat 
form,  in  full  view  of  the  audience. 

During  the  proceedings  an  interruption  occurred, 
in.— r  22* 


258  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

A  confused  cry  arose,  the  names  of  the  two  great 
visitors  alone  being  distinguishable.  It  was  taken  to 
mean  that  they  should  be  introduced.  This  was  done. 
They  rose  and  acknowledged  the  courtesy  by  bowing 
and  a  few  words.  But  such  a  formal  proceeding 
was  far  from  enough  to  satisfy  the  audience.  The 
noise  continued.  Franklin  and  Yoltaire  shook  hands. 
This  gave  rise  to  plaudits,  but  the  confused  cries 
were  not  stilled;  the  audience  wanted  some  more 
decided  demonstration. 

"  II  faut  s'embrasser,  a  la  Franchise"  ["  You  must 
embrace,  in  French  fashion"],  they  cried. 

John  Adams,  who  witnessed  the  spectacle,  thus 
describes  what  followed :  "  The  two  aged  actors  upon 
this  great  theatre  of  philosophy  and  frivolity,  em 
braced  each  other  by  hugging  one  another  in  their 
arms,  and  kissing  each  other's  cheeks,  and  then  the 
tumult  subsided.  And  the  cry  immediately  spread 
through  the  whole  kingdom,  and,  I  suppose  over  all 
Europe,  'How  charming  it  was  to  see  Solon  and 
Socrates  embrace.' " 

A  month  later  Yoltaire  lay  dead,  his  brilliant  eyes 
closed,  his  active  brain  at  rest.  The  excitement  of 
his  visit  to  Paris  and  the  constant  ovation  which  he 
had  received  had  been  too  much  for  the  old  man. 
He  had  died  in  the  midst  of  his  triumph,  vanished 
from  the  stage  of  life  just  when  his  genius  had  com 
pelled  the  highest  display  of  appreciation  which  it 
was  possible  for  his  countrymen  to  give.  As  for  the 
church,  which  his  keen  pen  had  dealt  with  as  severely 
as  with  the  temporal  powers,  it  alone  failed  to  forgive 
him.  He  was  induced,  that  he  might  obtain  Chris- 


VOLTAIRE'S  LAST  VISIT  TO  PARIS.  259 

tian  burial,  to  confess  and  receive  absolution ;  but, 
with  his  views,  this  was  simply  a  sacrifice  to  the  pro 
prieties  ;  he  remained  a  heathen  poet  to  the  end,  a 
born  satirist  and  scoffer  at  all  tradition  and  all  con 
ventionality. 

Yoltaire  was  deistic  in  belief,  in  no  sense  atheistic. 
Among  his  latest  words  were,  "I  die  worshipping 
God,  loving  my  friends,  not  hating  my  enemies,  but 
detesting  superstition."  Even  after  his  death  the 
powers  that  be  did  not  cease  their  persecution  of 
the  great  apostle  of  mockery  and  irreverence.  The 
government  gave  its  last  kick  to  the  dead  lion  by 
ordering  the  papers  not  to  comment  on  his  death. 
The  church  laid  an  interdict  on  his  burial  in  con 
secrated  ground, — an  hour  or  two  too  late,  as  it 
proved.  His  body,  minus  the  heart,  was  transferred 
in  1791  to  the  Pantheon,  and  when,  in  1864,  the  sar 
cophagus  was  opened  with  the  purpose  of  restoring 
the  heart  to  the  other  remains,  it  was  found  to  bo 
empty.  He  had  not  been  allowed  to  sleep  in  peace, 
even  in  death. 


THE  DIAMOND  NECKLACE. 

PARIS,  that  city  of  sensations,  was  shaken  to  its 
centre  by  tidings  of  a  new  and  startling  event.  The 
Cardinal  de  Bohan,  grand  almoner  of  France,  at 
mass-time,  and  when  dressed  in  his  pontifical  robes, 
had  been  suddenly  arrested  in  the  palace  of  Ver 
sailles  and  taken  to  the  Bastille.  Why  ?  ISTo  one 
knew ;  though  many  had  their  opinions  and  beliefs. 
Eumors  of  some  mysterious  and  disgraceful  secret 
beneath  this  arrest,  a  mystery  in  which  the  honor 
of  Marie  Antoinette,  the  queen  of  France,  was  in 
volved,  had  got  afloat,  and  were  whispered  from  end 
to  end  of  the  city,  in  which  "  the  Austrian,"  as  the 
queen  was  contemptuously  designated,  was  by  nc 
means  a  favorite. 

The  truth  gradually  came  out, — the  story  of  a  dis 
graceful  and  extraordinary  intrigue,  of  which  the 
prince  cardinal  was  a  victim  rather  than  an  accessory, 
and  of  which  the  queen  was  utterly  ignorant,  though 
the  ^odium  of  the  transaction  clung  to  her  until  her 
death.  When,  nearly  twenty  years  afterwards,  she 
was  borne  through  a  raging  mob  to  the  guillotine, 
insulting  references  to  this  affair  of  the  diamond 
necklace  were  among  the  terms  of  opprobium  heaped 
upon  her  by  the  dregs  of  the  Parisian  populace. 
260 


THE  DIAMOND  NECKLACE.          261 

What  was  this  disgraceful  business  ?  It  is  partly 
revealed  in  the  graphic  account  of  an  interview  with 
the  king  which  preceded  the  arrest  of  the  prince 
cardinal.  On  the  15th  of  August,  1785,  Louis  XYI. 
sent  for  M.  de  Eohan  to  his  cabinet.  He  entered 
smilingly,  not  dreaming  of  the  thunderbolt  that  was 
about  to  burst  upon  his  head.  He  found  there  the 
king  and  queen,  the  former  with  indignant  counte 
nance,  the  latter  grave  and  severe  in  expression. 

"  Cardinal,'7  broke  out  the  king,  in  an  abrupt  tone, 
"you  bought  some  diamonds  of  Boehmer?" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  rejoined  the  cardinal,  disturbed  by  the 
stern  severity  of  the  king's  looks  and  tone. 

"  What  have  you  done  with  them  ?" 

"  I  thought  they  had  been  sent  to  the  queen." 

"  Who  gave  you  the  commission  to  buy  them  ?" 

"  A  lady,  the  Countess  de  La  Motte  Valois,"  an 
swered  the  cardinal,  growing  more  uneasy.  "  She 
gave  me  a  letter  from  the  queen ;  I  thought  I  was 
obliging  her  Majesty." 

The  queen  sharply  interrupted  him.  She  was  no 
friend  of  the  cardinal ;  he  had  maligned  her  years 
before,  when  her  husband  was  but  dauphin  of  Franco 
Now  was  the  opportunity  to  repay  him  for  those 
malevolent  letters. 

"  How,  sir,"  she  broke  out  severely ;  "  how  could 
you  think — you  to  whom  I  have  never  spoken  for 
eight  years — that  I  should  choose  you  for  conducting 
such  a  negotiation,  and  by  the  medium  of  such  a 
woman  ?" 

"  I  was  mistaken,  I  perceive,"  said  the  cardinal, 
humbly.  "  The  desire  I  felt  to  please  your  Majesty 


262  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

misled  me.  Here  is  the  letter  which  I  was  told  was 
from  you." 

He  drew  a  letter  from  his  pocket  and  handed  it  to 
the  king.  Louis  took  it,  and  cast  his  eyes  over  the 
signature.  He  looked  up  indignantly. 

"How  could  a  prince  of  your  house  and  my  grand 
almoner  suppose  that  the  queen  would  sign,  '  Marie 
Antoinette  of  France?'"  he  sternly  demanded. 
"  Queens  do  not  sign  their  names  at  such  length.  It 
is  not  even  the  queen's  writing.  And  what  is  the 
meaning  of  all  these  doings  with  jewellers,  and  these 
notes  shown  to  bankers  ?" 

By  this  time  the  cardinal  was  so  agitated  that  he 
was  obliged  to  rest  himself  against  the  table  for  sup 
port. 

"  Sir,"  he  said,  in  a  broken  voice,  "  I  am  too  much 
overcome  to  be  able  to  reply.  What  you  say  over- 
whelms  me  with  surprise." 

"  Walk  into  the  room,  cardinal,"  said  the  king,  with 
more  kindness  of  tone.  "  You  may  write  your  ex 
planation  of  these  occurrences." 

The  cardinal  attempted  to  do  so,  but  his  written 
statement  failed  to  make  clear  the  mystery.  In  the 
end  an  officer  of  the  king's  body-guard  was  called  in, 
and  an  order  given  him  to  convey  Cardinal  de  Eohan 
to  the  Bastille.  He  had  barely  time  to  give  secret 
directions  to  his  grand  vicar  to  burn  all  his  papers, 
before  he  was  carried  off  to  that  frightful  fortress, 
the  scene  of  so  much  injustice,  haunted  by  so  many 
woes. 

The  papers  of  De  Eohan  certainly  needed  purg 
ing  by  fire,  for  they  were  full  of  evidence  of  doings 


THE   DIAMOND   NECKLACE.  263 

unworthy  a  dignitary  of  the  church.  The  prince  car 
dinal  was  a  vain  and  profligate  man,  full  of  vicious 
inclinations,  and  credulous  to  a  degree  that  had  made 
him  the  victim  of  the  unscrupulous  schemer,  Madame 
de  La  Motte  Yalois,  a  woman  as  adroit  and  unscru 
pulous  as  she  was  daring.  Of  low  birth,  brought  up 
by  charity,  married  to  a  ruined  nobleman,  she  had 
ended  her  career  by  duping  and  ruining  Cardinal  de 
Eohan,  a  man  whose  profligate  inclinations,  great 
wealth,  and  senseless  prodigality  opened  him  to  the 
machinations  of  an  adventuress  so  skilful,  bold,  and 
alluring  as  La  Motte  Yalois. 

So  much  for  preliminary.  Let  us  take  up  the 
story  at  its  beginning.  The  diamond  necklace  was 
an  exceedingly  handsome  and  highly  valuable  piece 
of  jewelry,  containing  about  five  hundred  diamonds, 
and  held  at  a  price  equal  to  about  four  hundred 
thousand  dollars  of  modern  money.  It  had  been 
made  by  Boehmer,  a  jeweller  of  Paris,  about  the  year 
1774,  and  was  intended  for  Madame  Dubarry,  the 
favorite  of  Louis  XY.  But  before  the  necklace  was 
finished  Louis  had  died,  and  a  new  king  had  come  to 
the  throne.  With  Louis  XYI.  virtue  entered  that 
profligate  court,  and  Madame  Dubarry  was  excluded 
from  its  precincts.  As  for  the  necklace,  it  remained 
without  a  purchaser.  It  was  too  costly  for  a  subject, 
and  was  not  craved  by  the  queen.  The  jeweller  had 
not  failed  to  offer  it  to  Marie  Antoinette,  but  found 
her  disinclined  to  buy.  The  American  Revolution 
was  going  on,  France  was  involved  in  the  war,  and 
money  was  needed  for  other  purposes  than  diamond 
necklaces. 


264  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

"  That  is  the  price  of  two  frigates,"  said  the  king, 
on  hearing  of  the  estimated  value  of  the  famous 
trinket. 

"  We  want  ships,  and  not  diamonds,"  said  the  queen, 
and  ended  the  audience  with  the  jeweller. 

A  few  months  afterwards,  M.  Boehmer  openly  de 
clared  that  he  had  found  a  purchaser  for  the  neck 
lace.  It  had  gone  to  Constantinople,  he  said,  for  tho 
adornment  of  the  favorite  sultana. 

"This  was  a  real  pleasure  to  the  queen,"  says 
Madame  Campan.  "She,  however,  expressed  some 
astonishment  that  a  necklace  made  for  the  adorn 
ment  of  French  women  should  be  worn  in  the  se 
raglio,  and,  thereupon,  she  talked  to  me  a  long  time 
about  the  total  change  which  took  place  in  the  tastes 
and  desires  of  women  in  the  period  between  twenty 
and  thirty  years  of  age.  She  told  me  that  when  she 
was  ten  years  younger  she  loved  diamonds  madly, 
but  that  she  had  no  longer  any  taste  for  anything 
but  private  society,  the  country,  the  work  and  the 
attentions  required  by  the  education  of  her  children. 
Prom  that  moment  until  the  fatal  crisis  there  was 
nothing  more  said  about  the  necklace." 

The  necklace  had  not  been  sold.  It  remained  in 
the  jeweller's  hands  until  nearly  ten  years  had  passed. 
Then  the  vicious  De  La  Motte  laid  an  adroit  plan  for 
getting  it  into  her  possession,  through  the  aid  of  the 
Cardinal  de  Eohan,  who  had  come  to  admire  her. 
She  was  a  hanger-on  of  the  court,  and  began  her 
work  by  persuading  the  cardinal  that  the  queen  re 
garded  him  with  favor.  The  credulous  dupe  was 
completely  infatuated  with  the  idea.  One  night,  in 


THE   DIAMOND   NECKLACE.  265 

August,  1784,  he  was  given  a  brief  interview  in  the 
groves  around  Versailles  with  a  woman  whom  he 
supposed  to  be  the  queen,  but  who  was  really  a  girl 
resembling  her,  and  taught  by  La  Motte  to  play  this 
part. 

Filled  with  the  idea  that  the  queen  loved  him,  the 
duped  cardinal  was  ready  for  any  folly.  De  La 
Motte  played  her  next  card  by  persuading  him  that 
the  queen  had  a  secret  desire  to  possess  this  wonder 
ful  necklace,  but  had  not  the  necessary  money  at 
that  time.  She  would,  however,  sign  an  agreement 
to  purchase  it  if  the  cardinal  would  become  her 
security.  De  Eohan  eagerly  assented.  This  secret 
understanding  seemed  but  another  proof  of  the 
queen's  predilection  for  him.  An  agreement  was 
produced,  signed  with  the  queen's  name,  to  which  the 
cardinal  added  his  own,  and  on  February  1,  1785, 
the  jeweller  surrendered  the  necklace  to  I)e  Eohan, 
receiving  this  agreement  as  his  security.  The  car 
dinal  carried  the  costly  prize  to  Versailles,  where  he 
was  told  the  queen  would  send  for  it.  It  was  given 
by  him  to  La  Motte,  who  was  commissioned  to 
deliver  it  to  her  royal  patroness.  In  a  few  days 
afterwards  this  lady's  husband  disappeared  from 
Paris,  and  the  diamond  necklace  with  him. 

The  whole  aifair  had  been  a  trick.  All  the  mes 
sages  from  the  queen  had  been  false  ones,  the  written 
documents  being  prepared  by  a  seeming  valet,  who 
was  skilful  in  the  imitation  of  handwriting.  Through 
out  the  whole  business  the  cardinal  had  been  readily 
deceived,  infatuation  closing  his  eyes  to  truth. 

Such  was  the  first  act  in  the  drama.  The  second 
H  23 


266  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

opened  when  the  jeweller  began  to  press  for  pay- 
ment.  M.  de  La  Motte  sold  some  of  the  diamonds 
in  England,  and  transmitted  the  money  to  his  wife, 
who  is  said  to  have  quieted  the  jeweller  for  a  time 
by  paying  him  some  instalments  on  the  price.  But 
he  quickly  grew  impatient  and  suspicious  that  all 
was  not  right,  and  went  to  court,  where  he  earnestly 
inquired  if  the  necklace  had  been  delivered  to  the 
queen.  For  a  time  she  could  not  understand  what 
he  meant.  The  diamond  necklace  ?  What  diamond 
necklace  ?  What  did  this  mean  ?  The  Cardinal  de 
Eohan  her  security  for  payment ! — it  was  all  false, 
all  base,  some  dark  intrigue  behind  it  all. 

Burning  with  indignation,  she  sent  for  Abbe  de 
Vermond  and  Baron  de  Breteuil,  the  minister  of  the 
king's  household,  and  told  them  of  the  affair.  It 
was  a  shameful  business,  they  said.  They  hated  the 
cardinal,  and  did  not  spare  him.  The  queen,  grow 
ing  momentarily  more  angry,  at  length  decided  to 
reveal  the  whole  transaction  to  the  king,  and  roused 
in  his  mind  an  indignation  equal  to  her  own.  The 
result  we  have  already  seen.  De  Eohan  and  La 
Motte  were  consigned  to  the  Bastille.  M.  de  La 
Motte  was  in  England,  and  thus  out  of  reach  of 
justice.  Another  celebrated  individual  who  was  con 
cerned  in  the  affair,  and  had  aided  in  duping  the 
cardinal,  the  famous,  or  infamous,  Count  Cagliostro, 
was  also  consigned  to  the  Bastille  for  his  share  in 
the  dark  and  deep  intrigue. 

The  trial  came  on,  as  the  closing  act  in  this  mys 
terious  drama,  in  which  all  Paris  had  now  become 
intensely  interested.  The  cardinal  had  renounced 


MAR  It  ANTOINETTE  AND  HER  CHILDREN, 


THE   DIAMOND   NECKLACE.  267 

all  the  privileges  of  his  rank  and  condition,  and 
accepted  the  jurisdiction  of  Parliament, — perhaps 
counting  on  the  open  enmity  between  that  body  and 
the  court. 

The  trial  revealed  a  disgraceful  business,  in  which 
a  high  dignitary  of  the  church  had  permitted  himself 
to  be  completely  gulled  by  a  shameless  woman  and 
the  equally  shameless  Cagliostro,  and  into  which 
not  only  the  name  but  even  the  virtue  of  the  queen 
had  been  dragged.  Public  opinion  became  intense. 
The  hostility  to  the  queen  which  had  long  smoul 
dered  now  openly  declared  itself.  "  It  was  for  her 
and  by  her  orders  that  the  necklace  was  bought," 
said  the  respectable  Parisians.  Those  who  were  not 
respectable  said  much  worse  things.  The  queen  was 
being  made  a  victim  of  these  shameless  and  criminal 
adventurers. 

The  trial  went  on,  political  feeling  being  openly  dis 
played  in  it.  The  great  houses  of  Conde  and  Eohan 
took  sides  with  the  cardinal.  Their  representatives 
might  be  seen,  dressed  in  mourning,  interviewing  the 
magistrates  on  their  way  to  the  tribunal,  pleading 
with  them  on  behalf  of  their  relative.  The  magis 
trates  needed  little  persuasion.  The  Parliament  of 
Paris  had  long  been  at  sword's  point  with  the  crown ; 
now  was  its  time  for  revenge;  political  prejudice 
blinded  the  members  to  the  pure  questions  of  law 
and  justice ;  the  cardinal  was  acquitted. 

Cagliostro  was  similarly  acquitted.  He  had  con 
ducted  his  own  case,  and  with  a  skill  that  deceived 
the  magistrates  and  the  public  alike.  Madame  de  La 
Motte  alone  was  convicted.  She  was  sentenced  to 


268  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

be  whipped,  branded  on  each  shoulder  with  the  letter 
Y  (for  voleuse,  "  thief"),  and  to  be  imprisoned  for  life. 
Her  husband,  who  was  in  England,  was  sentenced  in 
his  absence  to  the  galleys  for  life.  A  minor  partici 
pant  in  this  business,  the  girl  who  had  personated  the 
queen,  escaped  unpunished. 

So  ended  this  disgraceful  affair.  The  queen  was 
greatly  cast  down  by  the  result.  "  Condole  with  me," 
she  said,  in  a  broken  voice,  to  Madame  Campan ; 
"  the  intriguer  who  wanted  to  ruin  me,  or  procure 
money  by  using  my  name  and  forging  my  signature, 
has  just  been  fully  acquitted."  But  it  was  due,  she 
declared,  to  bribery  on  the  part  of  some  and  to 
political  passion  on  that  of  others,  with  an  audacity 
towards  authority  which  such  people  loved  to  display. 
The  king  entered  as  she  was  speaking. 

11  You  find  the  queen  in  great  affliction,"  he  said 
to  Madame  Campan ;  "  she  has  much  reason  to  be. 
But  what  then  ?  They  would  not  see  in  this  business 
anything  save  a  prince  of  the  Church  and  the  Prince 
of  Eohan,  whereas  it  is  only  the  case  of  a  man  in 
want  of  money,  and  a  mere  trick  for  raising  cash, 
wherein  the  cardinal  has  been  swindled  in  his  turn. 
.Nothing  is  easier  to  understand,  and  it  needs  no 
Alexander  to  cut  this  Gordian  knot." 

Cardinal  Eohan  was  exiled  to  his  abbey  of  Chaise- 
Dieu,  guilty  in  the  king's  opinion,  a  dupe  in  the 
judgment  of  history,  evidently  a  credulous  profligate 
who  had  mistaken  his  vocation.  The  queen  was  the 
true  victim  of  the  whole  affair.  It  doubled  the  hos 
tility  of  the  people  to  her,  and  had  its  share  in  that 
final  sentence  which  brought  her  head  to  the  block. 


THE  FALL   OF  THE  BASTILLE. 

"  To  the  Bastille !  to  the  Bastille !"  was  the  cry. 
Paris  surged  with  an  ungovernable  mob.  Month  by 
month,  week  by  week,  day  by  day,  since  the  meet 
ing  of  the  States- General, — called  into  being  to  pro 
vide  money  for  the  king,  and  kept  in  being  to  pro 
vide  government  for  the  people, — the  revolutionary 
feeling  had  grown,  alike  among  the  delegates  and 
among  the  citizens.  Now  the  population  of  Paris 
was  aroused,  the  unruly  element  of  the  city  was  in 
the  streets,  their  wrath  directed  against  the  prison- 
fortress,  the  bulwark  of  feudalism,  the  stronghold  of 
oppression,  the  infamous  keeper  of  the  dark  secrets 
of  the  kings  of  France.  The  people  had  always 
feared,  always  hated  it,  and  now  against  its  sullen 
walls  was  directed  the  torrent  of  their  wrath. 

The  surging  throng  besieged  the  Hotel  de  Yille, 
demanding  arms.  Gaming  no  satisfaction  there,  they 
rushed  to  the  Invalides,  where  they  knew  that  arms 
were  stored.  The  governor  wished  to  parley.  "  He 
asks  for  time  to  make  us  lose  ours !"  cried  a  voice  in 
the  crowd.  A  rush  was  made,  the  iron  gates  gave 
way,  the  cellar-doors  were  forced  open,  and  in  a  short 
time  thirty  thousand  guns  were  distributed  among 
the  people. 


270  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

Minute  by  minute  the  tumult  increased.  Messen 
gers  came  with  threatening  tidings.  "The  troops 
are  marching  to  attack  the  Faubourgs;  Paris  is 
about  to  be  put  to  fire  and  sword ;  the  cannon  of  the 
Bastille  are  about  to  open  fire  upon  us,"  were  the 
startling  cries.  The  people  grew  wild  with  rage. 

This  scene  was  the  first  of  those  frightful  out 
breaks  of  mob  violence  of  which  Paris  was  in  the 
coming  years  to  see  so  many.  It  was  the  14th  of 
July,  1789.  As  yet  no  man  dreamed  of  the  horrors 
which  the  near  future  was  to  bring  forth.  The  Third 
Estate  was  at  war  with  the  king,  and  fancied  itself 
the  power  in  France.  But  beneath  it,  unseen  by  it, 
almost  undreamed  of  by  it,  was  rousing  from  sleep 
the  wild  beast  of  popular  fury  and  revenge.  Centu 
ries  of  oppression  were  about  to  be  repaid  by  years 
of  a  wild  carnival  of  slaughter. 

The  Bastille  was  the  visible  emblem  of  that  op 
pression.  It  was  an  armed  fortress  threatening 
Paris.  The  cannon  on  its  walls  frowned  defiance  to 
the  people.  Momentarily  the  wrath  of  the  multi 
tude  grew  stronger.  The  electors  of  the  Third  Es 
tate  sent  a  message  to  Delaunay,  governor  of  the 
Bastille,  asking  him  to  withdraw  the  cannons,  the 
sight  of  which  infuriated  the  people,  and  promising, 
if  he  would  do  this,  to  restrain  the  mob. 

The  advice  was  wise ;  the  governor  was  not.  The 
messengers  were  long  absent ;  the  electors  grew  un 
easy  ;  the  tumult  in  the  street  increased.  At  length 
the  deputation  returned,  bringing  word  that  the  gov 
ernor  pledged  himself  not  to  fire  on  the  people, 
unless  forced  to  do  so  in  self-defence.  This  message 


THE   FALL   OF   THE   BASTILLE.  271 

the  electors  communicated  to  the  crowd  aiound  the 
Hotel  de  Ville,  hoping  that  it  would  satisfy  them. 
Their  words  were  interrupted  by  a  startling  sound, 
the  roar  of  a  cannon, — even  while  they  were  reporting 
the  governor's  evasive  message  the  cannon  of  the 
Bastille  were  roaring  defiance  to  the  people  of 
Paris ! 

That  shot  was  fatal  to  Delaunay.  The  citizens 
heard  it  with  rage.  "  Treason !"  was  the  cry.  "  To 
the  Bastille !  to  the  Bastille !"  again  rose  the  shout. 
Surging  onward  in  an  irresistible  mass,  the  furious 
crowd  poured  through  the  streets,  and  soon  sur 
rounded  the  towering  walls  of  the  detested  prison- 
fortress.  A  few  bold  men  had  already  cut  the  chains 
of  the  first  drawbridge,  and  let  it  fall.  Across  it 
rushed  the  multitude  to  attack  the  second  bridge. 

The  fortress  was  feebly  garrisoned,  having  but 
thirty  Swiss  soldiers  and  eighty  invalids  for  its  de 
fence.  But  its  walls  were  massive ;  it  was  well  pro 
vided  ;  it  had  resisted  many  attacks  in  the  past ;  this 
disorderly  and  badly-armed  mass  seemed  likely  to 
beat  in  vain  against  those  century-old  bulwarks  and 
towers.  Yet  there  come  times  in  which  indignation 
grows  strong,  even  with  bare  hands,  oppression 
waxes  weak  behind  its  walls  of  might,  and  this  was 
one  of  those  times. 

A  chance  shot  was  fired  from  the  crowd ;  the  sol 
diers  answered  with  a  volley ;  several  men  were 
wounded ;  other  shots  came  from  the  people ;  the 
governor  gave  orders  to  fire  the  cannon ;  the  struggle 
had  begun. 

It  proved  a  short  one.     Companies  of  the  National 


272  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

Guard  were  brought  up  to  restrain  the  mob, — the 
soldiers  broke  from  their  ranks  and  joined  it.  Two 
of  their  sub-officers,  Elie  and  Hullin  by  name,  put 
themselves  at  the  head  of  the  furious  crowd  and  led 
the  people  to  the  assault  on  the  fortress.  The  fire 
of  the  garrison  swept  through  their  dense  ranks; 
many  of  them  fell;  one  hundred  and  fifty  were 
killed  or  wounded ;  but  now  several  pieces  of  cannon 
were  dragged  up  by  hand  and  their  threatening 
muzzles  turned  against  the  gates. 

The  assault  was  progressing ;  Delaunay  waited  for 
succor  which  did  not  arrive ;  the  small  garrison 
could  not  withstand  that  mighty  mob;  losing  his 
head  in  the  excitement  of  the  moment,  the  governor 
attempted  to  blow  up  the  powder  magazine,  and 
would  have  done  so  had  not  one  of  his  attendants 
held  his  arms  by  force. 

And  now  deputations  arrived  from  the  electors, 
two  of  them  in  succession,  demanding  that  the  fort 
ress  should  be  given  up  to  the  citizen  guard.  De 
launay  proposed  to  capitulate,  saying  that  he  would 
yield  if  he  and  his  men  were  allowed  to  march  out 
with  arms  and  honor.  The  proposition  was  received 
with  shouts  of  sarcastic  laughter. 

"  Life  and  safety  are  all  we  can  promise  you,"  an 
swered  Elie.  "This  I  engage  on  the  word  of  an 
officer." 

Delaunay  at  this  ordered  the  second  drawbridge 
to  be  lowered  and  the  gates  to  be  opened.  In  poured 
the  mass,  precipitating  themselves  in  fury  upon  that 
hated  fortress,  rushing  madly  through  all  its  halls 
and  passages,  breaking  its  cell-doors  with  hammer 


THE  FALL  OP  THE  BASTILLE.         273 

blows,  releasing  captives  some  of  whom  had  been 
held  there  in  hopeless  misery  for  half  a  lifetime, 
unearthing  secrets  which  added  to  their  revengeful 
rage. 

Elie  and  Hullin  had  promised  the  governor  his 
life.  They  miscalculated  their  power  over  their 
savage  followers.  Before  they  had  gone  far  they 
were  fighting  hand  to  hand  with  the  multitude  for 
the  safety  of  their  prisoner.  At  the  Place  de  Greve, 
Hullin  seized  the  governor  in  his  strong  arms  and 
covered  his  bare  head  with  a  hat,  with  the  hope  of 
concealing  his  features  from  the  people.  In  a  mo 
ment  more  he  was  hurled  down  and  trodden  under 
foot,  and  on  struggling  to  his  feet  saw  the  head  of 
Delaunay  carried  on  a  pike.  The  major  and  lieu 
tenant  were  similarly  massacred.  Flesselles,  the 
mayor  of  Paris,  shared  their  fate.  The  other  pris 
oners  were  saved  by  the  soldiers,  who  surrounded 
and  protected  them  from  the  fury  of  the  mob. 

The  fall  of  the  Bastille  was  celebrated  by  two 
processions  that  moved  through  the  streets;  one 
blood-stained  and  horrible,  carrying  the  heads  of 
the  victims  on  pikes;  the  other  triumphant  and 
pathetic,  bearing  on  their  shoulders  the  prisoners 
released  from  its  cells.  Of  these,  two  had  been  in 
carcerated  so  long  that  they  were  imbecile,  and  no 
one  could  tell  whence  they  came.  On  the  pathway 
of  this  procession  flowers  and  ribbons  were  scattered. 
The  spectators  looked  on  with  silent  horror  at  the 
other. 

Meanwhile,  the  king  was  at  Versailles,  in  ignorance 
of  what  was  taking  place  at  Paris.  The  courts  were 
in.--* 


274  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

full  of  soldiers,  drinking  and  singing;  wine  had  been 
distributed  among  them;  there  were  courtiers  and 
court  intrigues  still ;  the  lowering  cloud  of  ruin  had 
yet  scarcely  cast  a  shadow  on  the  palace.  Louis 
XYI.  went  to  bed  and  to  sleep,  in  blissful  ignorance 
of  what  had  taken  place.  The  Duke  of  Lioncourt 
entered  and  had  him  awakened,  and  informed  him 
of  the  momentous  event. 

"  But  that  is  a  revolt !"  exclaimed  the  king,  with 
startled  face,  sitting  up  on  his  couch. 

"  No,  sire,"  replied  the  duke ;  "  it  is  a  revolution !" 
That  was  the  true  word.  It  was  a  revolution. 
With  the  taking  of  the  Bastille  the  Eevolution  of 
France  was  fairly  inaugurated.  As  for  that  detested 
fortress,  its  demolition  began  on  the  next  day,  amid 
the  thunder  of  cannon  and  the  singing  of  the  Te 
Deum.  It  had  dominated  Paris,  and  served  as  a 
state-prison  for  four  hundred  years.  Its  site  was 
henceforward  to  be  a  monument  to  liberty. 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  SAINTE 
AMPOULE. 

SAD  years  were  they  for  kings  and  potentates  in 
France,  now  a  century  ago,  when  the  cup  of  civiliza 
tion  was  turned  upside-down  and  the  dregs  rose  to 
the  top.  For  once  in  the  history  of  mankind  the 
anarchist  was  lord — and  a  frightful  use  he  made  of 
his  privileges.  Not  only  living  kings  were  at  a  dis 
count,  but  the  very  bones  of  kings  were  scattered  to 
the  winds,  and  the  sacred  oil,  the  "  Sainte  Ampoule," 
which  for  many  centuries  had  been  used  at  the  cor 
onation  of  the  kings  of  France,  became  an  object  of 
detestation,  and  was  treated  with  the  same  lack  of 
ceremony  and  consideration  as  the  royal  family  itself. 

Thereby  hangs  a  tale.  But  before  telling  what 
desecration  came  to  the  Sainte  Ampoule  through 
the  impious  hands  of  the  new  lords  of  France,  it 
may  be  well  to  trace  briefly  the  earlier  history  of 
this  precious  oil.  Christianity  came  to  France  when 
Clovis,  its  first  king,  was  baptized.  And  although 
we  cannot  say  much  for  the  Christian  virtues  of  the 
worthy  king  Clovis,  Heaven  seems  to  have  smiled 
on  his  conversion,  for  the  story  goes  that  a  dove 
came  down  from  the  realm  of  the  blessed,  bearing  a 
small  vial  of  holy  oil,  which  was  placed  in  the  hands 

275 


276  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

of  St.  Eemy  to  be  used  in  anointing  the  king  at  bis 
coronation.  Afterwards  tbe  saint  placed  tbis  vial  in 
bis  own  tomb,  wbere  it  was  after  many  years  discov 
ered  by  miracle.  It  is  true,  St.  Eemy  tells  us  none 
of  tbis.  Our  authority  for  it  is  Hinckmar,  Arch 
bishop  of  Ebeims,  who  flourished  four  centuries  after 
Clovis  and  his  converter  had  been  gathered  to  their 
fathers.  Eut  as  Hinckmar  defied  those  who  doubted 
the  story  of  the  dove  and  the  vial  to  prove  the  con 
trary,  and  produced  a  vial  of  oil  from  the  saint's 
tomb  in  further  proof  of  his  statement,  no  reason 
able  person — at  that  day — could  longer  deny  it.  In 
this  day  there  are  reasonable  persons  ready  to  affirm 
that  Bishop  Hinckmar  distilled  the  oil  himself,  and 
imposed  on  kings  and  subjects,  but  critics  of  that 
captious  sort  would  "  spoil  any  system  of  theology." 

From  that  day  forward  the  monarchs  of  France, 
at  their  coronation,  were  anointed  with  this  holy  oil. 
And  as  the  dove  had  descended  at  Eheims,  and  St 
Eemy  was  buried  tbere,  this  became  the  city  of  the 
coronation.  An  order  of  knighthood  was  founded  to 
take  part  in  the  coronation, — the  "  Knights  of  the 
Sainte  Ampoule," — but  the  worthy  incumbents  held 
their  office  for  a  day  only, — that  of  the  crowning  of 
the  king.  They  were  created  for  that  purpose,  re 
ceived  the  precious  vial  from  the  archbishop,  and 
after  the  ceremony  returned  it  to  that  high  dignitary 
of  the  church  and  saw  it  restored  to  its  abiding- 
place.  This  done,  they  ceased  to  exist  as  knights  of 
the  holy  oil,  the  order  dying  while  the  king  lived. 

But  these  short-lived  chevaliers  made  the  most  of 
their  opportunity,  and  crowded  all  the  splendor  and 


THE    STORY   OP  THE   SAINTE   AMPOULE.  277 

dignity  into  their  one  day  that  it  would  well  bear. 
The  sacred  vial  was  kept  in  the  abbey  of  St.  Eemy, 
and  from  that  place  to  the  cathedral  they  moved  in 
a  stately  procession  that  almost  threw  the  cortege 
of  the  king  into  the  shade.  The  Grand  Prior  of  St. 
Eemy  bore  the  vial,  in  its  case  or  shrine,  which  hung 
from  his  neck  by  a  golden  chain.  He  rode  always 
on  a  white  horse,  being  covered  by  a  magnificent 
canopy,  upheld  by  the  knights  of  the  Sainte  Ampoule. 
The  cathedral  reached,  the  prior  placed  the  vial  in 
the  hands  of  the  archbishop,  who  pledged  himself 
by  a  solemn  oath  to  restore  it  at  the  end  of  the  cere 
mony.  And  to  make  this  doubly  sure  a  number  of 
barons  were  given  to  the  knights  as  hostages,  the  res 
toration  of  the  vial  to  be  their  ransom.  The  cere 
mony  over,  back  to  the  abbey  they  went,  through 
streets  adorned  with  rich  tapestries,  and  surrounded 
by  throngs  of  admiring  lookers-on,  to  whom  the  vial 
was  of  as  much  interest  as  the  king's  crown. 

For  many  centuries  this  honor  came  at  intervals 
to  the  city  of  Eheims,  and  the  St.  Eemy  vial  figured 
as  an  indispensable  element  of  every  kingly  coro 
nation.  It  figured  thus  in  the  mission  of  Joan  of  Arc, 
whose  purpose  was  to  drive  the  English  from  Orleans 
and  open  the  way  to  Eheims,  that  the  new  king 
might  be  crowned  with  the  old  ceremony.  The  holy 
oil  continued  to  play  a  leading  part  in  the  coronation 
of  the  kings  until  the  reign  of  Louis  XVI.  Then 
came  the  Devolution,  that  mighty  overturner  of  all 
things  sacred  and  time-honored,  and  a  new  chapter 
was  written  in  the  story  of  the  Sainte  Ampoule.  It 
is  this  chapter  which  we  have  now  to  give. 
24 


278  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

The  Ee volution  had  gone  on,  desecrating  things 
sacred  and  beheading  things  royal,  through  years 
of  terror,  and  now  had  arrived  the  6th  of  October, 
1793,  a  day  fatal  in  the  history  of  the  holy  oil.  On 
that  day  Citizen  Ehull,  one  of  the  new  sovereigns 
of  France,  entered  the  room  of  Philippe  Hourelle, 
chief  marguillier  of  the  Cathedral  of  Eheims,  and 
demanded  of  him  the  vial  of  coronation  oil  of  which 
he  had  charge.  Horror  seized  Monsieur  Philippe; 
but  Master  Ehull  was  imperative,  and  the  guillotine 
stood  in  the  near  perspective.  There  was  nothing  to 
do  but  to  obey. 

"  It  is  not  in  my  care,"  declared  the  trembling 
Philippe.  "  It  is  in  the  keeping  of  the  cure,  Mon 
sieur  Seraine.  I  will  instantly  apply  to  him  for  it." 

"  And  make  haste,"  said  Citizen  Ehull.  "  Bring 
pomatum  and  all,"  thus  irreverently  designating  the 
age-thickened  oil. 

"May  I  ask  what  you  will  do  with  it?"  ventured 
Philippe. 

"  Grease  the  knife  of  the  guillotine,  mayhap,  that 
it  may  the  easier  slip  through  your  neck,  if  you  waste 
any  time  in  your  errand." 

As  may  be  imagined,  Philippe  Hourelle  lost  no 
time  in  seeking  the  cure,  and  giving  him  his  startling 
message.  M.  Seraine  heard  him  with  horror.  Had 
the  desecration  of  sans-culottisme  proceeded  so  far 
as  this  ?  But  an  idea  sprang  to  the  quick  wit  of  the 
cure.  These  low-born  rascals  might  be  cheated,  and 
a  counterfeit  vial  be  palmed  off  on  them.  He  made 
hasty  search.  Alas !  there  was  no  other  ancient  vial 
to  be  found,  and  no  oil  in  the  house.  The  time  was 


THE   STORY   OF   THE   SAINTE   AMPOULE.  279 

too  short.  That  truculent  citizen  would  have  their 
heads  off  if  they  delayed.  There  was  nothing  else 
to  be  done.  The  genuine  coronation  oil  must  be 
given  up. 

"  But  we  can  save  some  of  it,"  exclaimed  the  cure. 
"  Here  is  the  vial ;  give  me  the  consecrating  spoon." 

A  minute  sufficed  to  extract  a  small  portion  of  the 
unguent-like  substance.  Then,  with  a  sigh  of  regret, 
the  cure  handed  the  vial  to  Philippe,  who,  with  an 
other  sigh  of  regret,  delivered  it  to  Citizen  Ehull, 
who,  without  a  sigh  of  regret,  carried  it  to  the  front 
of  the  cathedral,  and  at  the  foot  of  the  statue  of 
Louis  XY.  hammered  the  vial  to  powder,  and  trod 
the  precious  ointment  un,der  foot  until  it  was  com 
pletely  mingled  with  the  mud  of  the  street. 

"  So  we  put  an  end  to  princes  and  pomatum,"  said 
this  irascible  republican,  with  a  laugh  of  triumph,  as 
he  ground  the  remnants  of  the  vial  under  his  irrev 
erent  heel. 

Not  quite  an  end  to  either,  as  it  proved.  The  por 
tion  of  the  sacred  oil  which  M.  Seraine  had  saved 
was  carefully  wrapped  up  by  him,  labelled,  and  placed 
in  the  care  of  Philippe  Hourelle,  to  be  kept  until 
the  reign  of  anarchy  should  come  to  an  end  and  a 
king  reign  again  in  France.  And  had  Citizen  Ehull 
dreamed  of  all  that  lay  in  the  future  every  hair  on 
his  democratic  head  would  have  stood  erect  in  horror 
and  dismay. 

In  truth,  not  many  years  had  passed  before  the  "age 
of  princes  came  again  to  France,  and  a  demand  for 
St.  Eemy's  vial  arose.  Napoleon  was  to  be  crowned 
emperor  at  Notre  Dame.  Little  he  cared  for  the 


280  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

holy  oil,  but  there  were  those  around  him  with  more 
reverence  for  the  past,  men  who  would  have  greatly 
liked  to  act  as  knights  of  the  Sainte  Ampoule.  But 
the  pomatum  was  not  forthcoming,  and  the  emperor 
was  crowned  without  its  aid. 

Then  came  the  end  of  the  imperial  dynasty,  and 
the  return  of  the  Bourbons.  To  them  the  precious 
ointment  was  an  important  essential  of  legitimate 
kingship.  Could  St.  Eemy's  vial  be  found,  or  had  it 
and  its  contents  vanished  in  the  whirlpool  of  the 
Eevolution?  That  was  to  be  learned.  A  worthy 
magistrate  of  Eheims,  Monsieur  de  Chevrieres,  took 
in  hand  the  task  of  discovery.  He  searched  dili 
gently  but  unsuccessfully,  until  one  day,  in  the  early 
months  of  1819,  when  three  gentlemen,  sons  of 
Philippe  Hourelle,  called  upon  him,  and  told  the 
story  which  we  have  just  transcribed.  A  portion  of 
the  holy  oil  of  coronation,  they  declared,  had  been 
in  their  father's  care,  preserved  and  transmitted 
through  M.  Seraine's  wit  and  promptitude.  Their 
father  was  dead,  but  he  had  left  it  to  his  widow,  who 
long  kept  it  as  a  priceless  treasure.  They  were  in 
terrupted  at  this  point  in  their  story  by  M.  de  Che 
vrieres. 

"  This  is  fortunate,"  he  exclaimed.  "  She  must  pass 
it  over  to  me.  Her  name  will  become  historic  for  her 
loyal  spirit." 

"  I  wish  she  could,"  said  one  of  the  visitors.  "  But, 
alas !  it  is  lost.  Our  house  was  plundered  during  the 
invasion,  and  among  other  things  taken  was  this 
precious  relic.  It  is  irretrievably  gone." 

That  seemed  to  end  the  matter ;  but  not  so,  there 


THE   STORY  OF  THE   SAINTE  AMPOULE.  281 

was  more  of  the  consecration  oil  in  existence  than 
could  have  been  imagined.  The  visit  of  the  Hou- 
relles  was  followed  after  an  interval  by  a  call  from  a 
Judge  Lecomte,  who  brought  what  he  affirmed  was 
a  portion  of  the  holy  ointment  which  had  been  given 
him  by  the  widow  Hourelle.  Unluckily,  it  was  of 
microscopic  dimensions,  far  from  enough  to  impart 
the  full  flavor  of  kingship  to  his  majesty  Louis 
XYIII. 

It  seemed  as  if  this  worthy  monarch  of  the  Besto- 
ration  would  have  to  wear  his  crown  without  anoint 
ment,  when,  fortunately,  a  new  and  interesting  item 
of  news  was  made  public.  It  was  declared  by  a 
number  of  ecclesiastics  that  the  cure,  M.  Seraine, 
had  given  only  a  part  of  the  oil  to  Philippe  Hourelle, 
and  had  himself  kept  the  remainder.  He  had  told 
them  so,  but,  as  it  proved,  not  a  man  of  them  all 
kiiew  what  he  had  done  with  it.  He  had  died,  and 
the  secret  with  him.  Months  passed  away  ;  spring 
vanished ;  summer  came ;  then  new  tidings  bloomed. 
A  priest  of  Berry-au-Bac,  M.  Boure  by  name,  sought 
M.  de  Chevrieres,  and  gladdened  his  heart  with  the 
announcement  that  the  missing  relic  was  in  his  pos 
session,  having  been  consigned  to  him  by  M.  Seraine. 
It  was  rendered  doubly  precious  by  being  wrapped 
in  a  portion  of  the  winding  sheet  of  the  blessed  St. 
Eemy  himself. 

Nor  was  this  all.  Within  a  week  another  portion 
of  the  lost  treasure  was  brought  forward.  It  had 
been  preserved  in  a  manner  almost  miraculous.  Its 
possessor  was  a  gentleman  named  M.  Champagne 
Provotian,  who  had  the  following  interesting  story 
24* 


282  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

to  tell.  He  had,  a  quarter  of  a  century  before,  in 
1793,  been  standing  near  Citizen  Ehull  when  that 
scion  of  the  Eevolution  destroyed  the  vial  of  St. 
Eemy,  at  the  foot  of  the  statue  of  Louis  XV.,  in 
front  of  the  Cathedral  of  Eheims.  When  he  struck 
the  vial  he  did  so  with  such  force  that  fragments  of 
it  flew  right  and  left,  some  of  them  falling  on  \,he 
coat-sleeve  of  the  young  man  beside  him,  M.  Cham 
pagne.  These  he  dexterously  concealed  from  the 
iconoclastic  citizen,  took  home,  and  preserved.  He 
now  produced  them. 

Here  were  three  separate  portions  of  the  precious 
ointment.  A  commission  was  appointed  to  exam 
ine  them.  They  were  pronounced  genuine,  oil  and 
glass  alike.  Enough  had  been  saved  to  crown  a 
king. 

"  There  is  nothing  now  to  obstruct  the  coronation 
of  your  Majesty,"  said  an  officer  of  the  court  to 
Louis  XVIII. 

His  majesty  laughed  incredulously.  He  was  an 
infidel  as  regarded  legend  and  a  democrat  as  re 
garded  ceremony,  and  gave  the  gentleman  to  under 
stand  that  he  was  content  to  reign  minus  pomatum. 

"  What  shall  be  done  with  the  ointment  ?"  asked 
the  disappointed  official. 

"  Lock  it  up  in  the  vestry  and  say  no  more  about 
it,"  replied  the  king. 

This  was  done,  and  the  precious  relics  were  re 
stored  to  the  tomb  of  St.  Eemy,  whence  they  origi 
nally  came ;  being  placed  there  in  a  silver  reliquary 
lined  with  white  silk,  and  enclosed  in  a  metal  case, 
with  three  locks.  And  there  they  lay  till  1825, 


THE   STORY   OP   THE   SAINTE   AMPOULE.  283 

when  a  new  king  came  to  the  throne,  in  the  person 
of  Charles  X. 

Now,  for  the  last  time,  the  old  ceremony  was 
revived,  the  knights  of  the  Sainte  Ampoule  being 
created,  and  their  office  duly  performed.  With  such 
dignity  as  he  could  assume  and  such  grandeur  as 
he  could  display,  Charles  entered  the  choir  of  the 
cathedral  and  advanced  to  the  grand  altar,  at  whose 
foot  he  knelt.  On  rising,  he  was  led  to  the  centre 
of  the  sanctuary,  and  took  his  seat  in  a  throne-like 
chair,  placed  there  to  receive  him.  In  a  semi-circle 
round  him  stood  a  richly-dressed  group  of  nobles 
and  courtiers. 

Then  came  forward  in  stately  procession  the  chev 
aliers  of  the  Sainte  Ampoule,  bearing  the  minute 
remnants  of  that  sacred  oil  which  was  claimed  to 
have  been  first  used  in  the  anointing  of  Clovis, 
thirteen  hundred  years  before.  An  imposing  group 
of  churchmen  stood  ready  to  receive  the  ointment, 
including  three  prelates,  an  archbishop,  and  two 
bishops.  These  dignitaries  carried  the  precious  relic 
to  the  high  altar,  consecrated  it,  and  anointed  the 
king  with  a  solemn  ceremony  highly  edifying  to  the 
observers,  and  greatly  gratifying  to  the  vanity  of 
the  new  monarch. 

It  cannot  be  said  that  this  ceremonious  proceeding 
appealed  to  the  people  of  France.  It  was  the  nine 
teenth  century,  and  the  Revolution  lay  between  the 
new  and  the  old  age.  All  men  of  wit  laughed  at 
the  pompous  affair,  and  five  years  afterwards  the 
people  of  Paris  drove  Charles  X,  from  the  throne, 
despite  the  flavor  of  coronation  that  hung  about 


284  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

him.  The  dynasty  of  the  Bourbons  was  at  an  end, 
and  the  knights  of  the  Saint  Ampoule  had  been 
created  for  the  last  time. 

In  conclusion,  there  is  a  story  connected  with 
the  coronation  ceremony  which  may  be  of  interest. 
Legend  or  history  tells  us  that  at  one  time  the  Eng 
lish  took  the  city  of  Eheims,  plundered  it,  and,  as 
part  of  their  plunder,  carried  off  the  Saint  Ampoule, 
which  their  desecrating  hands  had  stolen  from  the 
tomb  of  St.  Eemy.  The  people  of  the  suburb  of 
Chene  la  Populeux  pursued  the  invaders,  fell  upon 
them  and  recovered  this  precious  treasure.  From 
that  time,  in  memory  of  their  deed,  the  inhabitants 
of  Chene  claimed  the  right  to  walk  in  the  procession 
of  the  Sainte  Ampoule,  and  to  fall  heir  to  the  horse 
ridden  by  the  Grand  Prior.  This  horse  was  fur 
nished  by  the  government,  and  was  claimed  by  the 
prior  as  the  property  of  the  abbey,  in  recompense 
for  his  services.  He  denied  the  claim  of  the  people 
of  Chene,  said  that  their  story  was  a  fable,  and  that 
at  the  best  they  were  but  low-born  rogues.  As  a 
result  of  all  this,  hot  blood  existed  between  the  rival 
claimants  to  the  white  horse  of  the  coronation. 

At  the  crowning  of  Louis  XI Y.  the  monks  and 
the  people  of  Chene  came  to  blows,  in  support  of 
their  respective  claims.  The  villagers  pulled  the 
prior  from  his  horse,  pummelled  the  monks  who 
came  to  his  aid,  thrashed  the  knights  out  of  every 
semblance  of  dignity,  tore  the  canopy  into  shreds, 
and  led  off  the  white  horse  in  triumph.  Law  fol 
lowed  blows;  the  cost  of  a  dozen  horses  was  wasted 
on  the  lawyers ;  in  the  end  the  monks  won,  and  the 


THE   STORY   OF   THE   SAINTE  AMPOULE.  285 

people  of  Chene  had  to  restore  the  four-footed  prize 
to  the  prior. 

At  the  subsequent  coronations  of  Louis  XV.  and 
Louis  XYI.  they  renewed  their  claim,  and  violence 
was  again  threatened.  The  trouble  was  overcome 
by  special  decrees,  which  prohibited  the  people  of 
Chene  from  meddling  with  the  claim  of  the  prior. 
By  the  time  of  the  coronation  of  Charles  X.,  all 
such  mediaeval  folly  was  at  an  end,  and  the  stately 
old  ceremony  had  become  a  matter  of  popular  ridi 
cule. 

The  story  of  the  Sainte  Ampoule  is  not  without 
its  interest  in  showing  the  growth  of  ideas.  At  the 
end  of  the  ninth  century,  a  bishop  could  gravely 
state,  and  a  nation  unquestioningly  accept  his  state 
ment,  that  a  dove  had  flown  down  from  heaven 
bearing  a  vial  of  holy  oil  for  the  anointment  of  its 
kings.  At  the  end  of  the  nineteenth  century  the 
same  nation  has  lost  its  last  vestige  of  reverence  for 
the  "  divinity  which  doth  hedge  a  king,"  and  has  no 
longer  any  use  for  divinely-commissioned  potentates 
or  heaven-sent  ointments. 


THE  FLIGHT  OF  THE  KING. 

AT  midnight  of  the  22d  of  June,  1791,  a  heavy 
and  lumbering  carriage  rolled  slowly  into  the  town 
of  Yarennes,  situated  in  the  department  of  Meuse, 
in  northeastern  France.  It  had  set  out  from  Paris 
at  an  early  hour  of  the  preceding  day,  and  had  now 
left  that  turbulent  capital  more  than  a  hundred  and 
fifty  miles  behind  it,  pursuing  a  direct  route  towards 
the  nearest  frontier  of  the  kingdom. 

There  were  in  this  clumsy  vehicle  several  plainly- 
dressed  ladies,  a  man  attired  as  a  servant,  and  a  half- 
grown  boy.  They  all  seemed  in  the  best  of  spirits, 
and  felicitated  themselves  on  having  come  so  far 
without  question  or  obstruction.  As  they  neared 
Yarennes,  however,  an  alarming  sound  was  borne  on 
the  midnight  air  to  their  ears, — that  of  a  clanging 
bell,  ringing  quickly,  as  if  in  alarm.  They  entered 
the  town  and  drove  to  the  post-house. 

"  Let  us  have  horses  at  once,"  was  the  demand  of 
the  outriders ;  "  we  must  go  forward  without  delay." 

"There  are  no  horses  ready,"  was  the  reply, 
"  Have  you  your  passports  ?" 

The  papers  were  presented  and  taken  to  M.  Sausse, 
the  public  officer  of  the  commune,  a  timid  little  shop 
keeper,  sadly  incompetent  to  deal  with  any  matter 
286 


THE   FLIGHT   OF   THE   KING.  287 

that  needed  bold  decision.  He  cast  his  eye  over  the 
passports,  which  shook  in  his  trembling  hand.  Yet 
they  appeared  to  be  all  right,  being  made  out  in  the 
name  of  Baron  Korf,  the  man  in  the  carriage  being 
named  as  a  valet  de  chambre  to  the  baron. 

But  the  disturbed  little  commune  officer  knew 
better  than  that.  A  young  man  named  Drouet,  son 
of  the  postmaster  at  St.  Menehould,  had,  a  half-hour 
or  so  before,  ridden  at  furious  speed  into  the  town, 
giving  startling  information  to  such  of  the  citizens 
as  he  found  awake.  There  quickly  followed  that 
ringing  of  the  alarm-bell  which  had  pealed  trouble 
into  the  ears  of  the  approaching  travellers. 

M.  Sausse  approached  the  carriage,  and  bowed 
with  the  deepest  respect  before  the  seeming  servant 
within. 

"  Will  you  not  enter  my  house  ?"  he  asked.  "  There 
is  a  rumor  abroad  that  we  are  so  fortunate  as  to 
have  our  king  in  our  midst.  If  you  remain  in  the 
carriage,  while  the  municipal  authorities  are  in 
council,  your  Majesty  might  be  exposed  to  insult." 

The  secret  was  out;  it  was  the  king  of  France 
who  was  thus  masquerading  in  the  dress  of  a  lackey 
and  speeding  with  all  haste  towards  the  frontier. 
The  town  was  alarmed ;  a  group  of  armed  men  stood 
at  the  shopkeeper's  door  as  the  traveller  entered; 
some  of  them  told  him  rudely  that  they  knew  him 
to  be  the  king. 

"  If  you  recognize  him,"  sharply  answered  the  lady 
who  followed,  "  speak  to  him  with  the  respect  you 
owe  your  king." 

It  was  Marie  Antoinette,  though  her  dress  was 


288  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

rather  that  of  a  waiting-maid  than  a  queen,  The 
ladies  who  followed  her  were  Madame  Elizabeth,  the 
princess,  and  the  governess  of  the  royal  children. 
The  boy  was  the  dauphin  of  France. 

This  flight  had  been  undertaken  under  the  manage 
ment  of  General  Bouille,  who  had  done  all  in  his 
power  to  make  it  successful,  by  stationing  relays  of 
soldiers  along  the  road,  procuring  passports,  and 
other  necessary  details.  But  those  intrusted  with 
its  execution  had,  aside  from  keeping  the  project  a 
secret,  clumsily  managed  its  details.  The  carriage 
procured  was  of  great  size,  and  loaded  like  a  furniture 
van  with  luggage.  There  was  a  day's  delay  in  the 
start.  Even  the  setting  out  was  awkwardly  man 
aged;  the  queen  leaving  the  palace  on  foot,  losing 
her  way,  and  keeping  her  companions  perilously 
waiting.  The  detachments  of  troops  on  the  road 
were  sure  to  attract  attention.  Careful  precautions 
for  the  defeat  of  the  enterprise  seemed  to  have  been 
taken. 

Yet  all  went  well  until  St.  Menehould  was  reached, 
though  the  king  was  recognized  by  more  than  one 
person  on  the  road.  "  We  passed  through  the  large 
town  of  Chalons-sur-Marne,"  wrote  the  young  prin 
cess,  "  where  we  were  quite  recognized.  Many  people 
praised  God  at  seeing  the  king,  and  made  vows  for 
his  escape." 

All  France  had  not  yet  reached  the  republican 
virulence  of  Paris.  "  All  goes  well,  Francois,"  said 
the  queen  in  a  glad  tone  to  Yalory,  her  courier.  "  If 
we  were  to  have  been  stopped,  it  would  have  taken 
place  already." 


THE   FLIGHT   OF  THE   KING.  289 

At  St.  Menehould,  however,  they  found  the  people 
in  a  different  temper.  The  king  was  recognized,  and 
though  his  carriage  was  not  stopped,  a  detachment 
of  dragoons,  who  had  followed  him  at  a  distance, 
was  not  suffered  to  proceed,  the  people  cutting  the 
girths  of  the  horses.  Young  Drouet,  of  whom  we 
have  already  spoken,  sprang  on  horseback  and  rode 
hurriedly  on  towards  Varennes,  preceding  the  car 
riage. 

The  soldiers  who  had  been  posted  at  Yarennes 
were  in  no  condition  to  assist  the  king.  The  son  of 
Marquis  Bouille,  who  had  accompanied  the  royal 
party,  found  them  helplessly  intoxicated,  and  rode 
off  at  full  speed  to  inform  his  father  of  the  alarming 
condition  of  affairs. 

Meanwhile,  the  king,  who  had  taken  refuge  in  the 
shop  of  the  grocer  Sausse,  awaited  the  municipal 
authorities  in  no  small  perturbation  of  spirits.  They 
presented  themselves  at  length  before  him,  bowing 
with  great  show  of  respect,  and  humbly  asking  his 
orders. 

"Have  the  horses  put  to  my  carriage  without 
delay,"  he  said,  with  no  further  attempt  at  conceal 
ment,  "  that  I  may  start  for  Montmedy." 

They  continued  respectful,  but  were  provided  with 
various  reasons  why  they  could  not  obey:  the 
horses  were  at  a  distance ;  those  in  the  stables  were 
not  in  condition  to  travel;  pretext  after  pretext 
was  advanced  for  delay.  In  truth,  no  pretext  was 
needed;  the  adjoining  street  was  filled  with  armed 
revolutionists,  and  in  no  case  would  the  carriage 
have  been  suffered  to  proceed. 
in.— N  t  25 


290  HISTORICAL  TALES 

As  daybreak  approached  a  detachment  of  dragoons 
rode  into  the  town.  They  were  those  who  had  been 
posted  near  Chalons,  and  who  had  ridden  on  towards 
Montmedy  after  the  king's  passage.  Missing  him, 
they  had  returned.  Choiseul,  their  commander, 
pushed  through  the  people  and  entered  the  shop. 

"  You  are  environed  here,"  he  said  to  the  king. 
"We  are  not  strong  enough  to  take  the  carriage 
through ;  but  if  you  will  mount  on  horseback  we  can 
force  a  passage  through  the  crowd." 

"  If  I  were  alone  I  should  try  it,"  said  Louis.  "  I 
cannot  do  it  as  matters  stand.  I  am  waiting  for  day 
light  ;  they  do  not  refuse  to  let  me  go  on ;  moreover, 
M.  de  Bouille  will  soon  be  here." 

He  did  not  recognize  the  danger  of  delay.  The 
crowd  in  the  streets  was  increasing ;  the  bridge  was 
barricaded ;  the  authorities  had  sent  a  messenger  in 
haste  to  Paris  to  tell  what  had  happened  and  ask 
orders  from  the  National  Assembly. 

"  Tell  M.  de  Bouille  that  I  am  a  prisoner,"  said  the 
king  to  Captain  Deslon,  the  commander  of  a  detach 
ment  who  had  just  reached  him.  "  I  suspect  that  he 
cannot  do  anything  for  me,  but  I  desire  him  to  do 
what  he  can." 

The  queen  meanwhile  was  urgently  entreating 
Madame  Sausse  to  use  her  influence  with  her  husband 
and  procure  an  order  for  the  king's  release.  She 
found  the  good  woman  by  no  means  inclined  to  favor 
her. 

"  You  are  thinking  of  the  king,"  she  said ;  "  I  am 
thinking  of  M.  Sausse ;  each  is  for  her  own  husband." 

By  this  time  the  throng  in  the  streets  was  grow- 


THE   FLIGHT   OF  THE   KING.  291 

ing  impatient  and  violent.  "To  Paris r  to  Paris!" 
shouted  the  people.  The  king  grew  frightened. 
Bouille  had  failed  to  appear.  There  was  no  indica 
tion  of  his  approach.  The  excitement  grew  momen 
tarily  greater. 

During  this  anxious  interval  two  officers  rode 
rapidly  up  on  the  road  from  Paris,  and  presented 
themselves  before  the  king.  They  were  aides-de-camp 
of  General  Lafayette,  commander  of  the  National 
Guard.  One  of  them,  Eomeuf  by  name,  handed 
Louis  a  decree  of  the  assembly  ordering  pursuit  and 
return  of  the  king.  It  cited  an  act  which  forbade 
any  public  functionary  to  remove  himself  more  than 
twenty  leagues  from  his  post. 

"  I  never  sanctioned  that,"  cried  the  king,  angrily, 
Hinging  the  paper  on  the  bed  where  the  dauphin  lay. 

The  queen  snatched  it  up  hastily,  exclaiming  that 
the  bed  of  her  children  should  not  be  soiled  by  such 
a  document. 

"  Madame,"  said  Eomeuf,  warningly,  "  do  you  wish 
that  other  eyes  than  mine  should  witness  your 
anger  ?" 

The  queen  blushed,  and  recovered  with  an  effort 
the  composure  which  she  had  suffered  herself  to  lose. 

A  messenger  now  arrived  from  Bouille  bringing 
word  that  the  detachments  he  had  posted  were 
moving  towards  Yarennes,  and  that  he  himself  was 
on  the  way  thither.  But  the  tumult  in  the  streets 
had  grown  hour  by  hour  ;  the  people  were  becoming 
furious  at  the  delay ;  it  seemed  certain  that  the 
arrival  of  the  troops  would  be  the  signal  for  a  battle 
with  the  armed  populace,  who  had  strongly  barri- 


292  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

caded  the  town.  Utterly  disheartened,  the  king  gave 
orders  for  the  carriage  j  he  had  decided  to  return  to 
Paris. 

An  hour  afterwards  Bouille,  breathless  from  a  long 
and  hurried  ride,  arrived  within  sight  of  Yarennes. 
Its  barricades  met  his  eyes.  He  was  told  that  the 
king  had  set  out  on  his  return  an  hour  before.  The 
game  was  up ;  Louis  had  lost  his  last  hope  of  escape ; 
the  loyal  general  took  the  road  for  Stenay,  and  that 
same  evening  crossed  the  French  frontier. 

The  king's  carriage  made  its  way  back  to  Paris 
through  a  throng  that  lined  the  roads,  and  which 
became  dense  when  the  city  was  reached.  The 
National  Guards  held  their  arms  reversed ;  none  of 
the  spectators  uncovered  their  heads ;  the  flight  of 
the  king  had  put  an  end  to  his  authority  and  to  the 
respect  of  the  people.  It  was  a  sad  procession  that 
slowly  made  its  way,  in  the  evening  light,  along  the 
boulevards  towards  the  Tuileries.  When  the  king 
and  queen  entered  the  palace  the  doors  were  closed 
behind  them,  and  armed  guards  stationed  to  prevent 
egress.  The  palace  had  become  a  prison;  Louis 
XYI.  had  ceased  to  reign ;  the  National  Assembly 
was  now  the  governing  power  in  France. 

What  followed  a  few  words  may  tell.  In  the  suc 
ceeding  year  the  Eeign  of  Terror  began,  and  Louis 
was  taken  from  the  Tuileries  to  the  Temple,  a  true 
prison.  In  September  he  was  tried  for  treason  and 
condemned  to  death,  and  on  January  21,  1793,  his 
head  fell  under  the  knife  of  the  guillotine.  In  Oc 
tober  of  the  same  year  his  unhappy  queen  shared  his 
fate 


THE  END    OF  THE  TERROR. 

No  period  of  equal  length  in  the  whole  era  of  his 
tory  yields  us  such  a  succession  of  exciting  and  start 
ling  events  as  those  few  years  between  the  convening 
of  the  States-General  in  France  and  the  rise  of  Napo 
leon  to  power,  and  particularly  that  portion  of  the 
Revolution  known  as  the  Reign  of  Terror.  A  vol 
ume  of  thrilling  stories  might  have  been  made  from 
its  incidents  alone ;  but  it  would  have  been  a  volume 
so  full  of  tales  of  blood  and  woe,  of  misery  and  mas 
sacre,  of  the  dominance  of  those  wild-beast  passions 
which  civilization  seeks  to  subdue  in  man,  that  we 
may  well  be  spared  the  telling.  As  with  the  fall  of 
the  Bastille  began  the  long  dominion  of  the  populace, 
so  with  the  fall  of  Robespierre  it  ended,  and  civil 
order  returned  to  unhappy  France.  We  have  told 
the  story  of  the  one ;  we  shall  conclude  with  that 
of  the  other. 

Three  men  dominated  the  Terror, — Danton,  Marat, 
and  Robespierre;  the  first  named  a  man,  the  two 
others  tigers  in  human  form.  As  Lamartine  says, 
"  Nothing  was  wanting  to  make  Danton  a  great  man 
except  virtue."  He  had  too  much  of  the  latter,  as 
it  seems,  for  the  purposes  of  Robespierre ;  and  was 
brought  by  him  to  the  guillotine  on  April  5,  1794. 


294  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

The  triumvirate  of  the  Eeign  of  Terror  was  broken 
by  his  death  and  that  of  Marat,  who  had  fallen 
under  the  avenging  knife  of  Charlotte  Corday  in 
July,  1793.  Eobespierre  was  left  sole  director  of 
the  Eevolution,  being  president  of  the  Committee  of 
Public  Safety,  leader  of  the  Jacobin  Club,  favorite 
of  the  extreme  terrorists,  and  lord  and  master  of  the 
Convention,  whose  members  were  held  in  subjection 
by  his  violence  and  their  fears. 

His  dominion  was  not  to  be  of  long  continuance. 
It  was  signalized  by  such  a  frightful  activity  of  the 
guillotine,  in  which  multitudes  of  innocent  persons 
daily  perished,  that  the  terror  which  he  produced 
was  quickly  followed  by  indignation,  and  a  combina 
tion  of  many  of  the  leading  spirits  of  the  Convention 
was  formed  against  him.  One  after  another  he  had 
vanquished  all  his  enemies,  and  stood  alone.  But  he 
stood  on  such  a  ghastly  pyramid  of  the  dead  that  he 
could  not  hope  to  maintain  his  dangerous  elevation. 
The  voice  of  vengeance,  long  choked  by  terror,  at 
length  began  to  rise  against  this  wholesale  exe 
cutioner. 

The  outbreak  was  precipitated  by  a  demand  of 
Saint-Just,  the  most  prominent  supporter  of  Eobes 
pierre,  that  a  dictatorship  should  be  established  in 
France,  and  that  the  "virtuous  and  inflexible,  as 
well  as  incorruptible  citizen,"  Eobespierre,  should  be 
made  Dictator.  It  was  a  declaration  of  war.  Many 
of  the  members  of  the  Convention  knew  that  it 
meant  their  death.  Once  give  their  terrible  foe  the 
extreme  power  which  this  demand  indicated,  and 
every  known  enemy  of  Eobespierre  in  France  would 


THE   END   OF   THE   TERROR.  295 

be  doomed.  Yet  to  oppose  it  was  to  oppose  the  Jac 
obins  and  the  revolutionary  sections,  the  controlling 
powers  in  Paris.  The  boldest  members  of  the  Con 
vention  might  well  pause  and  tremble  before  assail 
ing  their  seemingly  impregnable  foe.  But  the  rule 
of  Eobespierre  had  been  opposed  in  committee ;  it 
had  ceased  to  be  a  secret  that  he  had  enemies  in  the 
Convention ;  as  yet  the  sentiment  against  him  had 
spoken  only  in  the  dark,  but  the  time  was  rapidly 
approaching  when  an  open  struggle  could  no  longer 
be  avoided. 

Eobespierre  himself  began  the  battle.  He  said  to 
a  deputation  from  Aisne,  "In  the  situation  in  which 
it  now  is,  gangrened  by  corruption,  and  without 
power  to  remedy  it.  the  Convention  can  no  longer 
save  the  republic ;  both  will  perish  together." 

He  repeated  this  accusation  before  the  Convention 
itself,  in  a  threatening  speech,  in  which  he  declared 
that  there  was  in  its  midst  a  conspiracy  against  pub 
lic  liberty ;  there  were  traitors  in  the  national  coun 
cils  ;  the  Convention  must  be  purged  and  purified ; 
the  conspirators  must  be  punished.  His  words  were 
listened  to  in  sullen  silence.  When  he  had  ceased 
no  word  was  spoken,  except  in  whispers  from  mem 
ber  to  member.  The  glove  of  defiance  had  been  cast 
into  their  midst ;  were  there  none  among  them  with 
the  courage  to  take  it  up,  or  must  they  all  yield 
themselves  as  the  slaves  or  the  victims  of  this  mer 
ciless  autocrat?  ISTo;  there  were  men  of  courage 
and  patriotism  left.  Three  delegates  rose  simulta 
neously,  three  voices  struggled  for  precedence  in  tho 
right  to  attack  the  tyrant  and  dar<*  the  worst. 


296  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

"  The  man  who  has  made  himself  master  of  every 
thing,  the  man  who  paralyzes  our  will,  is  he  who  has 
just  spoken — Eobespierre !"  cried  Cambon,  in  ringing 
tones  of  defiance. 

"  It  is  Eobespierre !  It  is  Eobespierre,"  came  from 
other  unsealed  voices.  "  Let  him  give  an  account  of 
the  crimes  of  the  members  whose  death  he  demanded 
from  the  Jacobins." 

The  attack  was  so  unexpected  and  so  vehement 
that  Eobespierre  hesitated  to  reply. 

"  You  who  pretend  to  have  the  courage  of  virtue, 
have  the  courage  of  truth,"  cried  Charlier ;  "  name 
the  individuals  you  accuse." 

Tumult  and  confusion  followed  these  daring  words. 
Eobespierre,  unable  to  gain  the  ear  of  the  assembly, 
which  now  seemed  filled  with  his  enemies,  and  find 
ing  the  feeling  against  him  rapidly  spreading,  left  the 
hall  and  took  refuge  with  the  Jacobins,  where  he 
repeated  his  address,  this  time  to  applauding  hear 
ers.  Yiolent  councils  followed.  Henriot,  command 
ant  of  the  troops,  proposed  to  march  on  the  Conven 
tion  and  put  an  end  to  its  existence.  "  Name  thy 
enemies,"  shouted  the  members  to  Eobespierre  ;  "  we 
will  deliver  them  to  thee."  Yet  there  was  hesitation 
and  doubt  among  the  leaders ;  they  feared  the  result 
of  violent  measures,  and  felt  inclined  to  temporize 
and  wait. 

The  Convention  met  the  next  day.  It  met  inspired 
-vith  a  new  spirit.  Courage  animated  the  members. 
They  had  .crossed  the  Eubicon,  and  felt  that  there 
was  no  return.  During  the  interval  since  the  last 
session  their  forces  had  been  organized,  their  plans 


THE   END   OP  THE   TERROR.  297 

considered.  Saint-Just  appeared  and  sought  to 
speak.  He  was  interrupted  and  his  words  drowned 
by  the  voices  of  indignant  members. 

"  I  see  here,"  cried  Billaud-Varennes,  who  stood 
beside  him,  "  one  of  the  men  who  yesterday,  at  the 
Jacobins,  promised  the  massacre  of  the  National 
Convention ;  let  him  be  arrested." 

The  officers  obeyed  this  order.  Saint-Just  was  in 
custody.  Billaud  continued  his  remarks,  declaring 
that  the  members  were  in  danger  of  massacre,  de 
nouncing  Eobespierre  and  his  supporters,  bidding 
them  to  be  firm  and  resolute.  His  boldness  infected 
the  assembly ;  the  deputies  stood  up  and  waved  their 
hats,  shouting  their  approval.  In  the  midst  of  this 
scene  Eobespierre  appeared,  livid  with  rage,  his  eyes 
flashing  with  the  fury  which  inspired  him. 

"  I  demand  liberty  to  speak,"  he  exclaimed. 

"  Down  with  the  tyrant !"  rose  in  a  roar  from  a 
hundred  voices. 

Tallien,  the  leader  of  the  opposition,  sprang  into 
the  tribune. 

"  I  demand  that  the  veil  be  torn  away  instantly," 
he  exclaimed.  "  The  work  is  done,  the  conspirators 
are  unmasked.  Yesterday,  at  the  Jacobins,  I  saw 
the  army  of  the  new  Cromwell  formed,  and  I  have 
come  here  armed  with  a  dagger  to  pierce  his  heart 
if  the  Assembly  dares  not  decree  his  accusation.  I 
demand  the  arrest  of  Henriot  and  his  staff." 

The  debate  went  on,  growing  more  violent  minute 
by  minute.  Several  times  Eobespierre  strove  to 
speak,  but  each  time  his  voice  was  drowned  in  cries 
of  "  Down  with  the  tyrant !"  Pale  with  rage  and 


298  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

fear,  he  turned  from  his  opponents  towards  his 
former  supporters,  both  hands  nervously  clutching 
the  tribune. 

"  It  is  to  you,  pure  and  virtuous  men,"  he  said, 
"  that  I  address  myself.  I  do  not  talk  with  scoun 
drels." 

"  Down  with  the  tyrant !"  was  the  response  of  the 
members  addressed.  Evidently  the  whole  assembly 
had  turned  against  him. 

Ilenriot,  the  president,  rang  his  bell  for  order. 

"  President  of  assassins/'  cried  Kobespierre,  in  a 
voice  that  grew  feebler,  "  I  once  more  demand  liberty 
to  speak." 

"  The  blood  of  Danton  is  choking  him !"  cried 
Gamier  de  1'Aude. 

"  Shall  this  man  longer  remain  master  of  the  Con 
vention  ?"  asked  Chai-les  Duval. 

"Let  us  make  an  end!  A  decree!  a  decree!" 
shouted  Lasseau. 

"  A  tyrant  is  hard  to  strike  down !"  exclaimed 
Freron. 

Eobespierre  stood  in  the  midst  of  his  circle  of  ene 
mies,  assailed  on  all  sides,  nervously  turning  in  his 
hands  an  open  knife. 

"  Send  me  to  death !"  he  ejaculated. 

"  You  have  merited  it  a  thousand  times,"  cried  his 
foes.  "  Down  with  the  tyrant !" 

In  the  midst  of  the  tumult,  a  decree  for  his  arrest 
was  offered  and  carried.  In  it  were  included  the 
names  of  his  brother,  of  Couthon,  and  of  Saint-Just. 
Henriot  proclaimed  the  decree,  while  wild  acclama 
tions  of  triumph  shook  the  room. 


THE   END   OF   THE   TERROR.  299 

"  Long  live  liberty !  Long  live  the  republic ! 
Down  with  the  tyrants !  To  the  bar  with  the  ac 
cused  !"  came  from  the  lips  of  those  who  the  day  be 
fore  had  not  dared  to  speak.  The  floodgates  were 
down  and  the  torrent  of  long  repressed  fury  was 
rushing  on  the  accused.  The  exciting  scene  ended 
in  the  removal  of  the  prisoners,  who  were  taken  to 
separate  prisons. 

Tidings  of  what  had  taken  place  in  the  Conven 
tion  ran  like  wildfire  through  Paris.  Thousands  of 
households  were  inspired  with  hope.  The  terrorists 
were  filled  with  fury  and  dismay.  The  Commune 
and  the  Jacobins  sworo  to  support  Eobespierre.  The 
tocsin  peal  rang  out ;  the  people  gathered ;  the  gates 
of  Paris  were  closed ;  Henriot,  half  drunk,  galloped 
along  the  streets,  crying  out  that  the  representatives 
of  the  people  were  being  massacred ;  an  insurrection 
against  the  Convention  was  rapidly  organized,  headed 
by  desperate  men,  among  them  Eobespierre  himself, 
who  was  again  free,  having  been  taken  from  the 
hands  of  the  officers. 

All  was  in  peril.  The  Convention  had  assembled 
again,  but  had  taken  no  steps  in  self-defence.  Start 
ling  tidings  were  brought  to  the  members  in  quick 
succession.  It  was  said  that  the  National  Guard 
was  coming  with  artillery,  to  direct  it  against  the 
hall.  The  roar  of  the  insurrection  filled  street  and 
building.  For  the  time  it  looked  as  if  Robespierre 
had  conquered,  and  all  was  at  an  end. 

"  I  propose,"  cried  Elie  Lacoste,  "  that  Henriot  bo 
outlawed." 

&.B  lie  spoko  these  words,  the  man  named  stood  in 


300  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

the  street  without,  ordering  the  artillerists,  whose 
cannon  were  trained  upon  the  Convention  hall,  to 
fire.  The  gunners  hesitated.  It  was  a  critical 
moment.  The  fate  of  France  hung  in  the  balance. 
A  group  of  the  deputies  came  hastily  from  the  hall 
and  faced  Henriot  and  his  men. 

"What  are  you  doing,  soldiers?"  they  exclaimed. 
"  That  man  is  a  rebel,  who  has  just  been  outlawed." 

The  gunners  lowered  their  matches.  The  Conven 
tion  was  saved.  The  National  Guard  had  deserted 
Eobespierre.  Henriot  put  spurs  to  his  horse,  and 
fled  at  fall  gallop. 

"  Outlaw  all  who  shall  take  arms  against  the  Con 
vention,  or  who  shall  oppose  its  decrees/*  said  Ba- 
rere  ;  "  as  well  as  those  who  have  defied  it  by  eluding 
arrest." 

This  decree,  repeated  to  the  insurgents,  completed 
their  discomfiture.  Eapidly  they  dispersed.  Public 
opinion  had  changed ;  the  Convention  had  triumphed. 
The  gunners  who  had  marched  with  the  insurrection 
deserted  their  pieces ;  and  a  few  hours  afterwards 
returned  to  them,  to  protect  the  Convention. 

The  members  of  the  Convention  had  run  a  serious 
risk  in  not  taking  active  steps  to  assemble  their 
friends,  and  in  thus  giving  so  perilous  an  oppor 
tunity  to  their  enemies.  This  error  was  now  re 
trieved  ;  a  section  of  their  supporters  came  together, 
commanded  by  Leonard  Bourdon  and  a  gendarme 
named  Meda.  They  reached  the  Hotel  de  Yille 
without  opposition.  Meda  entered  it,  crying,  prob 
ably  as  a  stratagem,  "  Long  live  Eobespierre !"  He 
reached  the  hall  where  the  Jacobin  leaders  were 


THE   END   OP   THE   TERROR.  301 

gathered  in  silent  dismay  around  the  fallen  dictator. 
Robespierre  sat  at  a  table,  his  head  resting  on  his 
hand.  Meda  stepped  towards  him,  pistols  in  hand. 

"  Surrender,  traitor !"  he  exclaimed. 

"  It  is  you  who  are  a  traitor,"  retorted  Robespierre, 
"  and  I  will  have  you  shot." 

His  words  were  barely  spoken  when  Meda  fired, 
his  bullet  shattering  Robespierre's  lower  jaw. 

This  decided  action  created  consternation  in  the 
room.  The  younger  Robespierre  leaped  from  a  win 
dow,  receiving  mortal  injury  from  the  fall.  Saint- Just 
turned  towards  Lebas  and  said  to  him,  "  Kill  me." 

"  I  have  something  better  to  do,"  answered  Lebas, 
shooting  himself  through  the  head. 

A  report  from  the  stairway  quickly  followed. 
Meda  with  his  second  pistol  had  shot  Couthon  and 
badly  wounded  him.  The  hall  had  suddenly  become 
a  place  of  blood  and  death.  The  Jacobin  chiefs, 
lately  all-powerful,  now  condemned,  dead,  or  dying, 
presented  a  frightful  spectacle.  Two  days  had 
changed  the  course  of  events  in  France.  The  reign 
of  Terror  was  at  an  end. 

Robespierre  lay  on  a  table,  his  head  supported  by 
a  small  deal  box.  The  blood  flowed  slowly  from  his 
mouth.  He  was  silent,  giving  no  sign  of  pain  or 
feeling.  He  was  taken  to  the  Conciergerie,  whither 
other  prisoners  of  his  faction  were  being  brought. 
Saint-Just  and  Couthon  were  already  there. 

Five  o'clock  came.  The  carts  had  drawn  up  as 
usual  at  the  gate  of  the  prison,  waiting  for  the  con 
demned.  This  time  there  was  a  new  spectacle  for 
the  people,  who  had  become  wearied  with  executions, 
26 


S02  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

but  were  on  the  alert  for  the  fresh  sensation  prom- 
ised  them.  It  was  no  time  to  temporize.  The  Con 
vention  had  ordered  the  immediate  execution  of  its 
foes.  As  Kobespierre,  with  a  blood-stained  cloth 
round  his  face,  entered  the  cart,  there  was  a  shout  of 
joy  and  triumph  from  the  assembled  crowd.  The 
late  all-powerful  man  had  not  a  friend  left. 

On  the  scaffold  the  executioner  tore  the  cloth 
from  Eobespierre's  wounded  face.  A  terrible  cry  of 
pain  followed,  the  first  sign  of  suffering  he  had  given. 
In  a  minute  more  his  head  had  fallen  into  the  gory 
basket,  and  France  was  avenged.  It  was  the  28th 
of  July.  1794,  less  than  four  months  after  the  death 
of  Danton  had  left  all  the  power  in  his  hands.  In 
that  and  the  following  days  one  hundred  and  three 
executions  sealed  the  fate  of  the  defeated  enemies 
of  the  Convention.  Justice  had  been  done;  the 
Terror  was  at  an  end. 


THE  BURNING   OF  MOSCOW. 

FROM  west  to  east  across  Europe  had  marched  the 
army  of  the  great  conqueror,  no  nation  daring  to 
draw  a  hostile  sword,  none  venturing  to  place  an 
obstacle  in  its  path.  Across  Eussia  it  had  marched 
almost  as  triumphantly,  breaking  irresistibly  through 
the  dams  of  armed  men  in  its  way,  sweeping  onward 
with  the  strength  and  majesty  of  fate.  At  length  it 
had  reached  the  heart  of  the  empire  of  the  czarsy 
and  before  it  lay  displayed  the  ancient  capital  of  the 
Muscovite  kings,  time-honored  Moscow. 

This  great  city  was  revealed  to  the  eyes  of  the 
weary  soldiers  with  the  suddenness  of  a  mirage  in 
the  desert.  Throughout  that  day  an  interminable 
outreach  of  level  country  had  seemed  to  spread  be 
fore  them,  dreary,  uninviting,  disheartening.  Now, 
from  the  summit  of  a  hill,  their  triumphant  eyes 
gazed  suddenly  upon  the  roofs  and  spires  of  a  mighty 
city,  splendid,  far-reaching,  stretching  far  across 
the  plain  that  lay  revealed  before  their  eyes.  It 
seemed  to  them  truly  as  if  the  hand  of  a  magician 
had  touched  the  desert,  and  caused  this  city  to  spring 
up  across  their  path. 

It  was  a  remarkable  spectacle  that  met  their  gaze. 
Here  were  visible  what  seemed  hundreds  of  gilded 


304  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

domes  and  shining  spires,  thousands  of  habitations 
rich  with  varied  colors,  a  strange  compound  of  pal 
aces  and  cottages,  churches  and  bell-towers,  woods 
and  lakes,  Western  and  Oriental  architecture,  the 
Gothic  arches  and  spires  of  Europe  mingled  with  the 
strange  forms  of  Byzantine  and  Asiatic  edifices.  Out 
wardly,  a  line  of  monasteries  flanked  with  towers  ap 
peared  to  encircle  the  city.  Centrally,  crowning  an 
eminence,  rose  a  great  citadel,  from  whose  towers  one 
could  look  down  on  columned  temples  and  imperial 
palaces,  embattled  walls  crowned  with  majestic  domes, 
from  whose  summits,  above  the  reversed  crescent, 
rose  the  cross,  Eussia's  emblem  of  conquest  over  the 
fanatical  sectaries  of  the  East.  It  was  the  Krem 
lin  which  they  here  beheld,  the  sacred  centre  of  the 
Euseian  empire,  the  ancient  dwelling-place  and  citadel 
of  the  czars. 

A  wild  cry  of  wonder  and  triumph  burst  from  the 
soldiers  who  had  first  reached  the  summit  of  the 
hill.  "Moscow!  Moscow!"  they  shouted,  their  im 
aginations  strongly  excited  by  the  magnificent  spec 
tacle.  This  cry  lent  wings  to  those  behind  them. 
In  crowding  hosts  the  eager  soldiers  rushed  up  the 
long  slope,  all  ranks  mingling  in  their  burning  desire 
to  gaze  upon  that  great  city  which  was  the  goal  of 
their  far-extended  march.  Deep  were  the  emotions, 
intense  the  joy,  with  which  they  gazed  on  this  daz 
zling  vision,  with  all  its  domes  and  spires  burning  in 
the  warm  rays  of  the  sun.  Napoleon  himself,  who 
hastened  to  the  spot,  was  struck  with  admiration, 
and  new  dreams  of  glory  doubtless  sprang  up  in  his 
soul  as  he  stood  gazing  with  deep  emotion  on  what 


THE  BURNING  OF  MOSCOW.  305 

must  have  seemed  to  him  the  key  of  the  East,  the 
gateway  to  conquests  never  yet  surpassed  by  man. 
Little  did  he  dream  that  it  was  ruin  upon  which  he 
gazed,  the  fatal  turning-point  in  his  long  career  of 
victory.  Still  certain  of  his  genius,  still  confident  in 
his  good  fortune,  he  looked  forward  to  new  conquests 
which  would  throw  those  of  the  past  into  the  shade, 
and  as  his  eyes  rested  on  that  mighty  city  of  the 
czars,  the  intoxication  of  glory  filled  his  soul. 

The  conqueror  gave  but  little  time  to  these  dreams. 
The  steps  to  realize  them  must  be  taken.  Murat  was 
bidden  to  march  forward  quickly  and  to  repress  all 
disorders  which  might  break  out  in  the  city.  Den- 
niee  was  ordered  to  hasten  and  arrange  for  the  food 
and  lodging  of  the  soldiers.  Durosnel  received  orders 
to  communicate  with  the  authorities,  to  calm  their 
fears,  and  to  lead  them  to  the  conqueror,  that  he 
might  receive  their  homage.  Fancying  that  the 
inhabitants  awaited  his  coming  in  trembling  fear, 
Napoleon  halted  until  these  preliminaries  should  be 
arranged,  before  making  his  triumphant  entry  into 
the  conquered  capital  of  Muscovy. 

Murat,  at  the  head  of  the  light  cavalry,  galloped 
rapidly  forward,  quickly  reaching  the  bridge  over 
the  Moskowa.  Here  he  found  a  rear-guard  of  the 
Eussian  army,  in  rapid  retreat.  The  meeting  was 
not  a  hostile  one ;  Murat  rode  to  the  Eussian  line, 
and  asked  if  there  was  an  officer  among  them  who 
spoke  French.  A  young  Eussian  immediately  pre 
sented  himself,  and  asked  him  what  he  wanted. 

"  Who  is  the  commander  of  this  rear-guard  ?"  he 
asked. 

in.— u  26* 


306  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

The  Eussian  pointed  to  a  white-haired  officer,  who 
wore  a  long  cloak  of  fur.  Murat  advanced  and 
held  out  his  hand.  The  officer  took  and  pressed  it 
warmly. 

"  Do  you  know  me  ?"  asked  the  Frenchman. 

"Yes,"  answered  the  Eussian,  courteously;  "we 
have  seen  enough  of  you  under  fire  to  know  you." 

A  short  colloquy  succeeded,  during  which  Murat 
could  not  keep  his  eyes  from  the  officer's  fur  cloak, 
which  looked  as  if  it  would  be  very  comfortable  in  a 
winter  bivouac.  The  Eussian,  noticing  his  looks, 
took  off  the  mantle  and  offered  it  to  him,  begging 
him  to  accept  it  as  a  present  from  an  admiring  foe. 
Murat  courteously  accepted  it,  and  in  return  pre 
sented  the  officer  with  a  beautiful  and  valuable  watch, 
which  was  accepted  in  the  same  spirit  of  courteous 
good-will. 

The  Eussian  officer  now  joined  his  men,  who  were 
filing  rapidly  away,  and  Murat  rode  onward  into  the 
streets  of  the  captured  city,  his  staff  and  a  detach 
ment  of  cavalry  accompanying  him.  Through  street 
after  street  he  passed,  here  finding  himself  moving 
between  rows  of  narrow  wooden  houses,  there  through 
avenues  bordered  by  palatial  residences,  which  rose 
from  rich  and  ample  gardens,  but  all  silent  and  seem 
ingly  deserted. 

The  city  was  there,  but  where  were  the  people  ? 
Solitude  surrounded  him.  Not  an  inhabitant  was  to 
be  seen.  It  seemed  a  city  of  the  dead.  Into  Berlin, 
Vienna,  and  other  capitals  had  the  French  army  en 
tered,  but  never  had  it  seen  anything  like  this  utter 
solitude.  The  inhabitants,  so  the  surprised  soldiers 


THE   BURNING   OF  MOSCOW.  307 

fancied,  must  be  cowering  in  terror  within  their 
houses.  This  desolation  could  not  continue.  Moscow 
was  known  as  one  of  the  most  bustling  cities  in 
Europe.  As  soon  as  the  people  learned  that  no  harm 
was  meant  them,  the  streets  would  again  swarm 
with  busy  life.  Hugging  this  flattering  opinion  to 
his  soul,  Murat  rode  on,  threading  the  silent  city. 

Ah !  here  were  some  of  the  people.  A  few  dis 
tracted  individuals  had  appeared  in  the  streets. 
Murat  rode  up  to  them,  to  find  that  they  were 
French,  belonging  to  the  foreign  colony  of  Moscow. 
They  begged  piteously  for  protection  from  the  rob 
bers,  who,  they  said,  had  become  masters  of  the  town. 
They  told  Murat  more  than  this,  destroying  the 
pleasant  picture  of  a  submissive  and  contented  pop 
ulation  with  which  he  had  solaced  his  mind.  The 
population  had  fled,  they  said ;  no  one  was  left  in  the 
city  except  a  few  strangers  and  some  Russians  who 
knew  the  ways  of  the  French  and  did  not  fear  them. 
In  their  place  was  a  crew  of  thieves  and  bandits 
whom  the  Count  of  Eostopchin  had  let  loose  on 
deserted  Moscow,  emptying  the  prisons  and  setting 
these  convicts  free  to  ravage  the  city  at  their  will. 

Further  evidence  of  this  disheartening  story  was 
soon  forthcoming.  When  the  French  approached  the 
Kremlin  they  were  saluted  by  a  discharge  of  mus 
ketry.  Some  of  the  villanous  crew  had  invaded  the 
capitol,  seized  on  the  guns  in  the  arsenal,  and  were 
firing  on  the  invaders.  A  few  minutes  settled  this 
last  effort  in  the  defence  of  Moscow.  The  citadel 
was  entered  at  a  charge,  several  of  the  villanous 
crew  were  sabred,  and  the  others  put  to  fligbt.  The 


308  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

French  had  the  town,  but  it  was  an  empty  one,  its 
only  inmates  being  thieves  and  strangers. 

The  next  morning,  September  15,  1812,  Napoleon 
made  his  triumphal  march  into  Moscow,  at  the  head 
of  his  conquering  legions.  But  for  the  first  time  in 
his  career  of  victory  he  found  himself  in  the  streets 
of  a  deserted  city,  advancing  through  empty  ave 
nues,  to  whose  windows  the  tread  of  marching  feet 
called  not  an  eye  to  witness  the  triumph  of  France. 
It  was  a  gloomy  and  threatening  impression  which 
was  experienced  by  the  grand  army  in  its  prog 
ress  through  those  silent  and  lifeless  streets.  The 
ancient  city  of  the  czars  seemed  a  body  without  a 
soul. 

But  if  the  people  were  gone,  their  dwellings  re 
mained.  Moscow  was  taken,  with  all  its  palaces  and 
treasures.  It  was  a  signal  conquest.  Napoleon 
hastened  to  the  Kremlin,  mounted  to  the  top  of  the 
lofty  tower  of  Ivan,  and  from  its  height  looked 
with  eyes  of  pride  on  the  far-extending  city.  It 
was  grand,  that  vision  of  palatial  mansions,  but  it 
was  mournful  in  its  silence  and  gloom,  the  tramp  of 
soldiery  its  only  sound,  the  flutter  of  multitudes  of 
birds — ravens  and  crows,  which  haunted  the  city  in 
thousands — its  only  sign  of  life.  Two  days  before 
Moscow  had  been  one*  of  the  busiest  cities  in  the 
world.  Now  it  was  the  most  silent.  But  the  con 
queror  had  this  satisfaction,  that  while  abandoned 
like  other  Eussian  towns,  it  was  not  burned  like 
them,  he  might  find  here  winter-quarters  for  his 
army  and  by  mild  measures  lure  the  frightened 
people  back  to  their  homes  again.  Comforted  with 


THE   BURNING  OF   MOSCOW.  309 

this  hopeful  view,  Napoleon  descended  the  stairs 
again,  filled  with  confidence  and  triumph. 

His  confidence  was  misplaced.  Disaster  lowered 
upon  the  devoted  city.  On  the  day  succeeding  his 
entrance  a  column  of  flame  suddenly  appeared, 
rising  from  a  large  building  in  which  was  stored  an 
abundant  supply  of  spirits.  The  soldiers  ran  thither 
without  thought  of  alarm,  fancying  that  this  was 
due  to  some  imprudence  on  the  part  of  their  own 
men.  In  a  short  time  the  fire  was  mastered,  and  a 
feeling  of  confidence  returned. 

But  immediately  afterwards  a  new  fire  broke  out 
in  a  great  collection  of  buildings  called  the  Bazaar, 
in  which  were  the  richest  shops  of  the  city,  filled 
with  costly  goods,  the  beautiful  fabrics  of  Persia 
and  India,  and  rare  and  precious  commodities  from  all 
quarters  of  the  world.  Here  the  flames  spread  with 
extraordinary  rapidity,  consuming  the  inflammable 
goods  with  frightful  haste,  despite  the  frantic  efforts 
of  the  soldiers  to  arrest  their  progress.  Despairing 
of  success,  they  strove  to  save  something  from  the 
vast  riches  of  the  establishment,  carrying  out  furs, 
costly  wines,  valuable  tissues,  and  other  precious 
treasures.  Such  as  remained  of  the  people  of  the 
town  aided  in  these  efforts,  in  the  natural  desire  to 
save  something  from  the  flames. 

Until  now  all  this  seemed  ordinary  accident,  and 
no  one  dreamed  that  these  fires  were  the  result  of 
hostile  design.  They  were  soon  to  learn  more  of 
the  unconquerable  determination  of  the  Bussians. 
During  the  following  night  the  wind  rose  suddenly, 
and  carried  the  flames  of  the  burning  Bazaar  along 


310  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

several  of  the  most  beautiful  streets  of  Moscow,  the 
fire  spreading  rapidly  among  the  wooden  buildings, 
and  consuming  them  with  alarming  rapidity. 

But  this  was  not  the  most  disturbing  indication. 
Eockets  were  seen  in  the  distance,  ascending  into  the 
air,  and  immediately  afterwards  fire  broke  out  in  a 
dozen  quarters,  and  hired  bandits  were  seen  carrying 
combustibles  at  the  end  of  long  poles,  and  seeking 
to  extend  the  empire  of  the  flames.  A  number  of 
these  were  arrested,  and  under  threat  of  death  re 
vealed  a  frightful  secret.  The  Count  of  Eostopchin 
had  ordered  that  the  great  city  of  Moscow  should  be 
set  on  fire  and  burned,  with  as  little  heed  for  the 
immense  loss  involved  as  he  would  have  had  in 
ordering  the  burning  of  a  wayside  village. 

The  news  filled  the  whole  army  with  consternation. 
Waiting  till  the  wind  had  risen,  the  ferocious  count 
had  sent  up  his  signal-rockets  to  order  the  work  to 
begin.  He  had  done  more.  On  running  to  the 
pumps  to  obtain  water  to  extinguish  the  flames,  there 
were  none  to  be  found.  They  had  been  removed  and 
the  fire-extinguishing  apparatus  destroyed  in  prepa 
ration  for  this  incendiary  work. 

Napoleon,  alarmed  and  incensed,  ordered  that  all 
caught  in  the  act  of  firing  buildings  should  be  ex 
ecuted  on  the  spot.  The  army  was  directed  to  use 
every  effort  to  extinguish  the  flames.  But  the  high 
wind  set  all  their  efforts  at  defiance.  It  increased  in 
fury  and  varied  in  direction,  carrying  the  conflagra 
tion  over  new  quarters.  From  the  Kremlin  could 
be  seen  vast  columns  of  fire,  shooting  from  building 
to  building,  wrapping  the  wooden  structures  in  lurid 


THE   BURNING   OF   MOSCOW.  311 

sheets  of  flame,  sweeping  destruction  forward  at 
frightful  speed.  The  roar  of  the  flames,  the  explo 
sions  that  from  time  to  time  took  place,  the  burning 
fragments  which  filled  the  air,  borne  on  the  wings 
of  the  wind,  all  went  to  make  a  scene  as  grand  and 
fearful  as  human  eye  has  ever  gazed  upon.  To 
Napoleon  and  his  men,  who  saw  their  hopes  of  safe 
and  pleasant  winter-quarters  thus  vanishing  in  flame, 
it  must  have  been  a  most  alarming  and  disquieting 
spectacle. 

After  blowing  for  some  hours  from  the  north 
west,  the  wind  shifted  to  the  south-west,  and  the 
conflagration  invaded  new  regions  of  the  city.  The 
Kremlin,  hitherto  out  of  the  range  of  the  flames, 
was  now  in  danger.  Fiery  sparks,  borne  by  the 
wind,  fell  on  its  roof  and  in  its  court-yard.  The  most 
frightful  danger  of  the  whole  night  now  threatened 
the  imperilled  army.  In  the  court-yards  of  the 
Kremlin  had  been  placed  more  than  four  hundred 
wagons  of  ammunition ;  in  its  arsenal  were  a  hun 
dred  thousand  pounds  of  powder.  Should  the  flames 
reach  these,  Napoleon  and  his  guards  would  be  blown 
into  the  air. 

All  who  were  near  him  pressed  him  to  hasten  from 
this  imminent  peril.  General  Lariboisiere  begged  him 
to  fly,  as  a  duty  which  he  owed  to  his  army.  Offi 
cers  who  came  in  from  the  streets  reported  that  it 
was  almost  impossible  to  pass  through  the  avenues 
of  the  town,  and  that  delay  would  increase  the  dan 
ger.  To  remain  where  they  were  much  longer  might 
render  escape  impossible. 

Napoleon,   convinced   by   these   words,   left   the 


312  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

Kremlin,  after  some  twenty-four  hours'  possession 
of  this  old  palace  of  the  czars,  and  descended  to  the 
quay  of  the  Moskowa,  where  he  found  his  horses 
awaiting  him.  Mounting,  he  rode  through  the  fire- 
invaded  streets  towards  the  north-west,  but  with  no 
little  difficulty  and  danger,  for  the  names  from  the 
other  quarters  of  the  city  were  now  spreading  here. 

The  wind  seemed  steadily  to  increase  in  violence, 
torrents  of  smoke,  cinders,  and  sparks  were  driven 
down  into  the  streets;  sheets  of  name  seemed  to 
bend  downward  as  if  to  sweep  the  ground ;  on  every 
side  the  troops  were  flying  for  their  lives,  on  every 
side  the  conflagration  pursued  them ;  it  was  through 
imminent  peril  that  the  grand  army,  which  on  the 
morning  before  had  marched  so  triumphantly  into 
that  abandoned  city,  now  succeeded  in  gaining  a  safe 
location  outside,  whence  they  could  look  back  in 
despair  on  that  hell  of  flames  in  which  their  dearest 
hopes  were  being  consumed. 

A  small  number  of  the  inhabitants  who  had  re 
mained  concealed  in  their  houses  now  came  out, 
carrying  away  with  them  what  treasures  they  most 
esteemed ;  in  some  cases,  women  their  children,  men 
their  aged  parents ;  many  of  them  barely  saving 
their  clothes,  and  disputing  the  possession  of  even 
these  with  the  band  of  robbers  whom  Eostopchin  had 
let  loose,  and  who,  like  spirits  of  evil,  danced  with 
glee  in  the  midst  of  the  terrible  conflagration  which 
had  been  kindled  by  their  hands. 

So  ended  one  of  the  most  startling  events  in  his 
tory* — the  burning  of  a  great  city  to  dispossess  a 
victorious  foe.  It  proved  successful.  When  JSfapo- 


THE   BURNING  OP  MOSCOW.  313 

leon  left  the  Kremlin  on  that  fearful  night  he  began 
his  downward  career.  The  conflagration,  it  is  true, 
did  not  drive  him  at  once  from  Moscow.  He  lin 
gered  for  more  than  a  month  amid  its  ruins,  in  the 
vain  hope  that  the  czar  would  ask  him  for  terms  of 
peace.  But  the  czar  kept  silent,  the  city  was  un 
tenable  for  winter-quarters,  and  retreat  became  im 
perative.  When,  at  length,  the  grand  army  marched, 
winter  marched  with  it, — a  winter  such  as  even 
Eussia  had  rarely  seen.  Napoleon  had  delayed  too 
long.  The  north  gathered  its  forces  and  swooped 
upon  his  shivering  ranks,  with  death  in  »ts  blasts. 
The  Eussians,  recovering  from  their  losses,  rushed 
upon  his  freezing  columns,  pouring  destruction  upon 
them  as  they  marched.  All  was  at  an  end.  The 
great  victor's  tide  of  success  had  definitely  turned. 
He  had  entered  Eussia  with  nearly  half  a  million  of 
men ;  hardly  a  tenth  part  of  this  great  army  fol 
lowed  him  from  that  fatal  land. 


NAPOLEON'S   RETURN  FROM 
ELBA. 

ALL  was  quiet  in  Elba.  Nothing  was  talked  of  at 
Porto-Ferrajo  but  the  ball  to  be  given  by  Pauline, 
the  sister  of  Napoleon,  who  had  exchanged  his  im 
perial  dominion  over  half  Europe  for  kingship  over 
that  little  Mediterranean  island.  Evening  came. 
The  fete  was  a  brilliant  one.  Napoleon  was  present, 
gay,  cheerful,  easy,  to  all  appearance  fully  satisfied 
with  his  little  kingdom,  and  without  thought  of 
wider  empire  or  heavier  cares.  He  stayed  till  a  late 
hour,  and  went  home  with  two  of  his  old  generals, 
Bertrand  and  Drouet,  to  tell  them  the  news  which 
had  come  to  him  from  the  continent.  This  news  was 
not  altogether  to  his  liking.  The  Congress  at  Vi 
enna  had  decreed  his  transportation  to  the  Azores 
Elba  was  too  near  France. 

Such  was  the  state  of  affairs  on  the  night  of  Feb 
ruary  25,  1815.  At  sunset  of  the  next  day  there 
might  have  been  seen  a  smiall  flotilla  moving  before 
a  south  wind  along  the  shores  of  Elba.  It  consisted 
of  a  brig,  the  Inconstant  by  name,  a  schooner,  and 
five  smaller  vessels.  The  brig  evidently  carried  guns. 
The  decks  of  the  other  vessels  were  crowded  with 
men  in  uniform.  On  the  deck  of  the  Inconstant 
314 


NAPOLEON'S  RETURN  FROM  ELBA.  315 

stood  Napoleon,  his  face  filled  with  hope  and  joy, 
his  hand  waving  an  adieu  to  his  sister  Pauline,  who 
watched  him  from  the  chateau  windows,  on  the  island 
shore. 

The  next  day  came.  The  sea  was  motionless.  Not 
a  breath  of  wind  could  be  felt.  The  island  was  still 
close  at  hand.  At  a  distance  might  be  seen  the 
French  and  English  cruisers  which  guarded  that  side 
of  the  island,  now  moveless  upon  a  moveless  sea.  It 
was  doubtful  if  the  flotilla  had  not  better  return. 
But  the  wind  rose  again,  and  their  progress  was  re 
sumed. 

Four  in  the  afternoon  found  them  off  the  heights 
of  Leghorn.  Five  leagues  to  leeward  lay  one  frigate ; 
near  the  shores  of  Corsica  was  another ;  to  windward 
could  be  seen  a  third,  making  its  way  towards  the 
flotilla.  It  was  the  Zephyr,  of  the  French  navy, 
commanded  by  Captain  Andrieux.  Now  had  come  a 
vital  moment  in  the  enterprise.  Should  the  Emperor 
declare  himself  and  seek  to  gain  over  Andrieux  ? 
It  was  too  dangerous  a  venture ;  he  bade  the  grena 
diers  on  the  deck  to  conceal  themselves ;  it  was  a 
situation  in  which  strategy  seemed  better  than  bold 
ness.  At  six  the  two  vessels  were  close  together. 
Lieutenant  Taillade  of  the  Inconstant  knew  and 
saluted  Captain  Andrieux.  A  speaking-trumpet  col 
loquy  followed. 

"Where  are  you  bound?"  asked  Taillade. 

"  To  Leghorn.     And  you  ?" 

"  To  Genoa.  Have  you  any  commissions  I  can 
execute  there  ?" 

" Thanks,  not  any.     How  is  the  Emperor?" 


*16  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

"  Very  well." 

"  So  much  the  better." 

The  two  vessels  moved  on,  and  soon  lost  sight  of 
each  other  in  the  growing  darkness.  The  other 
frigates  had  disappeared. 

The  next  day  dawned.  There  was  visible  a  large 
frigate  in  the  distance,  but  it  was  not  moving  towards 
the  flotilla.  No  danger  was  to  be  feared  from  this 
source.  But  the  vessel's  head  had  been  turned  to 
the  southward,  to  Taillade's  surprise. 

"  Gentlemen,"  he  called  to  the  officers  on  the 
bridge,  (C  are  we  bound  for  Spain  or  for  Africa  ?" 

Napoleon,  who  had  perceived  the  same  thing,  sum 
moned  Taillade  from  his  conference  with  the  officers, 

"  Where  are  we  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Sire,  we  are  headed  for  Africa." 

kC  I  don't  wish  to  go  there.     Take  me  to  France." 

"Your  Majesty  shall  be  there  before  noon  to 
morrow." 

The  face  of  Napoleon  beamed  on  hearing  thew 
words.  He  turned  to  the  soldiers  of  the  Old  Quart 
who  accompanied  him,  and  said, — 

"  Yes,  grenadiers,  we  are  going  to  France,  to  Paris.'* 
Enthusiastic  "vivas"  followed  his  announcement, 
which  told  a  tale  of  future  glory  to  those  war-hard 
ened  veterans.  They  had  fought  for  the  Emperor  OB 
many  a  mighty  field.  They  were  ready  to  dare  new 
dangers  in  the  hope  of  new  triumphs. 

On  the  morning  of  Wednesday,  March  1,  the  shores 
of  France  were  visible  from  the  vessel's  deck.  At 
three  in  the  afternoon  anchor  was  dropped  in  the 
^*y  of  Juan.  Cheers  and  salvos  of  artillery  greeted 


NAPOLEON'S  RETURN  FROM  ELBA.  317 

these  welcome  shores;  the  boats  were  quickly 
dropped,  and  by  five  o'clock  the  whole  expedition 
was  on  shore.  The  soldiers  made  their  bivouac  in 
an  olive  grove  on  the  borders  of  the  bay. 

"  Happy  omen  !"  said  Napoleon ;  "  the  olive  is  the 
emblem  of  peace." 

He  plucked  some  violets,  and  then  sat  down  and 
consulted  his  maps,  which  were  spread  on  a  table  be 
fore  >.im.  There  were  two  routes  which  might  be 
taken  ;  an  easy  one  through  Provence,  and  a  difficult 
one  over  the  snowy  mountains  of  Dauphiny.  But 
on  the  former  he  could  not  count  on  the  loyalty  of 
the  people ;  on  the  latter  he  could :  the  difficult  route 
was  chosen. 

It  proved  a  cold  and  wearying  journey.  The  men 
were  obliged  to  march  in  single  file  along  narrow 
roads  which  bordered  precipices.  Several  mules,  one 
of  them  laden  with  gold,  lost  their  footing  and  were 
plunged  down  the  cliff.  Napoleon  was  forced  to  dis 
mount  and  go  on  foot  to  keep  warm.  For  a  short 
time  he  rested  beside  the  brush-wood  fire  of  a  cabin 
whose  only  tenant  was  an  old  woman. 

"  Have  you  any  news  from  Paris  ?"  he  asked  her. 
"  Do  you  know  what  the  king  is  doing  ?" 

"  The  king  ?  You  mean  the  Emperor,"  answered 
the  old  woman.  "  He  is  always  down  yonder." 

So,  here  was  a  Frenchwoman  who  had  not  heard 
a  word  of  the  last  year's  doings.  Was  this  the  stuff 
of  glory  ?  Napoleon  looked  at  General  Drouet,  and 
said,  in  pensive  tones,  "Do  you  hear  this,  Drouet? 
What,  after  all,  is  the  good  of  troubling  the  world  in 
order  to  fill  it  with  our  name  ?" 
27* 


318  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

We  cannot  follow  their  progress  step  by  step. 
That  small  army  of  a  thousand  men  was  marching 
to  conquer  a  kingdom,  but  for  days  it  had  only  the 
mountains  and  the  snows  to  overcome.  As  yet  not 
a  soldier  had  been  encountered,  and  they  had  been 
a  week  on  shore.  But  the  news  of  the  landing  had 
now  spread  far  and  wide,  and  soldiers  were  march 
ing  to  stop  the  advance  of  the  "  Brigand  of  Elba,"  as 
the  royalists  in  Paris  called  Napoleon.  How  would 
they  receive  him, — with  volleys  or  acclamations? 
That  was  soon  to  be  learned.  The  troops  in  that  part 
of  France  were  concentrated  at  Grenoble  and  its 
vicinity.  The  Emperor  was  approaching  them.  The 
problem  would  soon  be  solved. 

At  nine  o'clock  of  March  7  Napoleon  separated 
his  small  force  into  three  divisions,  himself  taking 
station  in  the  midst  of  the  advance-guard,  on  horse 
back,  wearing  his  famous  gray  overcoat  and  the 
broad  ribbon  of  the  Legion  of  Honor.  About  one 
o'clock  the  small  battalion  approached  a  regiment  of 
the  troops  of  the  king,  who  were  drawn  up  in  line 
across  the  road.  Napoleon  dismounted. 

"Colonel  Mallet,"  he  said,  "tell  the  soldiers  to 
put  their  weapons  under  their  left  arms,  points 
down." 

"Sire,"  said  the  colonel,  "is  it  not  dangerous  to 
act  thus  in  presence  of  troops  whose  sentiments 
we  do  not  know,  and  whose  first  fire  may  be  so 
fatal?" 

"Mallet,  tell  them  to  put  the  weapons  under  their 
arms,"  repeated  Napoleon. 

The  order  was  obeyed.     The  two  battalions  faced 


NAPOLEON'S  RETURN  FROM  ELBA  319 

each  other,  at  short  pistol-shot,  in  absolute  silence. 
Napoleon  advanced  alone  towards  the  royal  troops. 

"  Present  arms !"  he  commanded. 

They  obeyed,  levelling  their  guns  at  their  old 
commander.  He  advanced  slowly,  with  impassive 
face.  Beaching  their  front,  he  touched  his  cap  and 
saluted. 

"Soldiers  of  the  Fifth,"  he  cried,  loudly,  "do  you 
recognize  me  ?" 

"  Yes,  yes,"  came  from  some  voices,  filled  with 
barely-repressed  enthusiasm. 

"  Soldiers,  behold  your  general ;  behold  your  em 
peror,"  he  continued.  "  Let  any  of  you  who  wishes 
to  kill  him,  fire." 

Fire  ? — Their  guns  went  to  the  earth ;  they  flung 
themselves  on  their  knees  before  him,  called  him 
father,  shed  tears,  shouted  as  if  in  frenzy,  waved 
their  shakos  on  their  bayonets  and  sabres. 

"All  is  over,"  said  Napoleon  to  Bertrand  and 
Drouet.  "  In  ten  days  we  shall  be  in  the  Tuileries." 

In  a  brief  time  the  Emperor  moved  on,  the  king's 
regiment,  now  wearing  the  tricolor  cockade,  following 
with  his  former  troop.  As  they  drew  near  Grenoble 
throngs  of  peasantry  gathered,  with  enthusiastic 
cheers.  Another  regiment  approached,  the  seventh 
of  the  line,  commanded,  by  Colonel  de  Labedoyere. 
He  had  taken  the  eagle  of  the  regiment  from  a  chest, 
brandished  his  sword,  and  crying,  "Long  live  the 
Emperor  !  Those  who  love  me  follow  me !"  led  the 
way  from  Grenoble.  The  whole  regiment  followed. 
Meeting  Napoleon,  the  colonel  and  the  Emperor 
sprang  from  their  horses  and  warmly  embraced. 


320  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

"Colonel,"  said  Napoleon,  "it  is  you  who  will 
replace  me  on  the  throne." 

It  was  night  when  they  reached  Grenoble.  The 
royalist  authorities  had  closed  the  gates,  but  the 
ramparts  were  thronged  with  men.  The  darkness 
was  profound,  but  Labedoyere  called  out  loudly, — 

"  Soldiers,  it  is  I,  Labedoyere,  colonel  of  the  Sev 
enth.  We  bring  you  Napoleon.  He  is  yonder.  It 
is  for  you  to  receive  him  and  to  repeat  with  us  the 
rallying-cry  of  the  former  conquerors  of  Europe: 
Live  the  Emperor!" 

His  words  were  followed  by  a  ringing  shout  from 
the  ramparts.  Many  ran  to  the  gates.  Finding 
them  closed  and  barred  they  furiously  attacked  them 
with  axes,  while  the  peasants  outside  hammered  on 
them  as  fiercely.  Thus  doubly  assailed  they  soon 
gave  way,  and  the  stream  of  new-comers  rushed 
in,  torches  and  flambeaux  illuminating  the  scene. 
Napoleon  had  no  little  difficulty  in  making  his  way 
through  the  crowd,  which  was  delirious  with  joy, 
and  reaching  an  inn,  the  Three  Dauphins,  where  he 
designed  to  pass  the  night. 

On  the  9th  he  left  Grenoble,  followed  by  six 
thousand  of  his  old  soldiers.  His  march  was  an 
ovation.  He  reached  Lyons  on  the  10th.  Several 
regiments  had  been  collected  here  to  oppose  him, 
but  they  all  trampled  the  white  cockade  of  the  king 
underfoot,  assumed  the  tricolor,  and  fraternized  with 
the  Emperor's  troops. 

Marshal  Ney  was  the  only  hope  left  to  the  royal 
ists.  He  had,  they  said,  promised  Louis  XVIII.  to 
bring  back  Napoleon  in  an  iron  cage.  This  hope 


NAPOLEON'S  RETURN  FROM  ELBA.  321 

vanished  when  Ney  issued  a  proclamation  beginning, 
"  The  cause  of  the  Bourbons  is  lost  forever  ;"  which 
was  followed,  on  March  18,  by  his  embracing  the 
Emperor  openly  at  Auxerre. 

All  was  over  for  Louis  XVIII.  Near  midnight 
of  March  19  some  travelling  carriages  rolled  away 
from  the  court-yard  of  the  Tuileries  in  a  torrent  of 
rain,  and  amid  a  furious  wind-storm  that  extinguished 
the  carriage  lights.  It  was  Louis  XVIII.  going 
into  exile.  On  the  20th,  at  nine  o'clock  in  the  even 
ing,  the  Emperor  Napoleon  drove  through  the  streets 
of  Paris  towards  the  abandoned  palace  through  hosts 
of  shouting  soldiers  and  a  population  that  was  wild 
with  joy.  The  officers  tore  him  from  his  carriage 
and  carried  him  on  their  arms,  kissing  his  hands,  em 
bracing  his  old  gray  overcoat,  not  letting  his  feet 
touch  ground  till  they  had  borne  him  to  the  foot  of 
the  grand  stairway  of  the  Tuileries. 

It  was  twenty  days  since  he  had  landed,  and  France 
was  his,  the  people,  the  soldiers,  alike  mad  with  de 
light,  none,  to  all  appearance,  dreaming  of  what 
renewed  miseries  this  ill-omened  return  of  their 
worshipped  emperor  meant. 

It  meant,  as  we  now  know,  bloodshed,  slaughter, 
and  ruin ;  it  meant  Waterloo  and  St.  Helena ;  it 
meant  a  hundred  days  of  renewed  empire,  and  then 
the  final  end  of  the  power  of  the  great  conqueror. 
On  August  7,  less  than  five  months  from  the  date 
of  the  triumphant  entry  to  the  Tuileries,  Napoleon 
stepped  on  board  the  British  frigate  Northumber 
land,  to  be  borne  to  the  far-off  isle  of  St.  Helena, 
his  future  home. 


322  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

Twenty-five  years  after  the  date  of  these  events 
Napoleon  returned  again  to  France,  but  under  very 
different  auspices  from  those  described.  On  the  29th 
of  November,  1840,  there  anchored  at  Cherbourg, 
amid  the  salutes  of  forts  and  ships,  a  French  war- 
vessel  called  the  Belle  Poule,  on  which  were  the 
mortal  remains  of  the  great  conqueror,  long  since 
conquered  by  death,  and  now  brought  back  to  the 
land  over  which  he  had  so  long  reigned.  On  De 
cember  8  the  coffin  was  transferred  to  the  steamer 
Normandie,  amid  a  salute  of  two  thousand  guns, 
and  taken  by  it  to  the  Seine.  On  December  15  the 
coffin,  placed  on  a  splendid  car  drawn  by  sixteen 
horses,  moved  in  solemn  procession  through  the 
streets  of  Paris,  attended  by  the  noblest  escort  the 
city  could  provide,  and  passing  through  avenues 
thronged  with  adoring  multitudes,  who  forgot  the 
injuries  the  great  soldier  had  done  to  France  and 
remembered  only  his  fame.  The  funeral  train  was 
received  by  King  Louis  Philippe,  the  royal  family, 
and  all  the  high  dignitaries  of  the  government  at 
the  Church  of  the  Invalides,  in  which  a  noble  and 
worthy  final  resting-place  had  been  prepared  for  the 
corpse  of  the  once  mighty  emperor.  "Napoleon," 
says  Bourrienne,  "had  again  and  finally  conquered. 
While  every  throne  in  Europe  was  shaking,  the  Great 
Conqueror  came  to  claim  and  receive  from  posterity 
the  crown  for  which  he  had  sacrificed  so  much. 
In  the  Invalides  the  Emperor  had  at  last  found  a 
resting-place,  '  by  the  banks  of  the  Seine,  among  the 
French  people  whom  he  had  loved  so  well.' " 


THE    END. 


of. 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

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